


The Chronicles of Quinn Kane

by NecroNOMNOMicon (LimeDragon)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fetish, Humiliation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LimeDragon/pseuds/NecroNOMNOMicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rising starlet Quinn Kane was just trying to research a role. She never wanted to be molested in the worst, most dehumanizing ways possible by man and beast!<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bar Sinister

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of original fiction. No similarity to anyone, living or dead, is intended. I do not make any profit from this (sadly).

The side street in this off-the-map Florida party town was poorly-lit, and Quinn Kane found herself wishing she had stuck to the main boulevard. Sand blew across the sidewalk, churning among the discarded bar flyers while other swirling bits of trash swirled around her slender ankles. Music of a variety of clashing styles could be heard in the air, and as she looked across the street, Quinn saw a drunken group of couples stumbling and laughing, not noticing her. Somewhere in the distance behind her, she heard a bottle break. And then another.

Quinn was on this street because she was concerned about being recognized, even though her TV series had been off the air for a couple of years and her movie roles had been limited do far. Her last boyfriend had insisted that she wouldn’t be identified in a police lineup, but she dumped his ass, so that’s how much he knew. She was certain she could be picked out of a lineup. Quinn paused to steal a glance at her reflection in a clear spot in a grimy shop window: She was not rail-thin, but not thick by any means; her legs were long and well-toned and her ass high firm. “And I still have the best legs in the business,” she murmured to herself. Her raven-black hair was piled high and a simple gold choker encircled her neck. Even though she sometimes she wished they were bigger, she liked her perky, round breasts, and frankly they looked sexy in this shiny gold-foil metallic bikini top, which squeezed and accented her assets. She had a tiny purse slung over one shoulder by a long strap and her left wrist was wrapped with bracelets and beads and paper bands from various bars. She had a simple sheer sarong knotted around her waist to give her butt some of the coverage her bikini bottom didn’t. Satisfied with what she saw, Quinn turned, and her hard-soled sandals slapped against the concrete as she walked toward the nearest bar.

Anyone would take Quinn for just another spring-breaker – which was the new movie role she was researching tonight. She had just landed a lead role, her first, in a new film called “Bikini Spring,” and she was certain it would surprise people by being more than just another brainless R-rated comedy about booze, bimbos and boobs. She had been impressed by the script’s take on our decadent, instant-gratification and easy deification society. And she was a lead, not “Girlfriend” or “Cheerleader #2.” While the costume designers and hair people were collaborating with the director on her character’s look – should they lighten or color her hair? – Quinn decided to work on her character’s inner life.

She had asked the cabbie to take her to an area where the hip kids hung out. He didn’t recognize her, and she didn’t volunteer that she was an actress prepping for a movie. Quinn wanted to see what her character would be getting herself into, so she slipped away from the production company and set out on her own unsanctioned fact-finding mission. She dressed like the co-eds she had seen around town, pulling this bikini from the wardrobe truck because the color accented her deeply tanned skin tone. And she liked the little ties on the sides of the bottoms. She thought it was sexy that one tug on each side would leave exposed to the world.

The sign above her head identified the bar as “The Purple Dolphin,” and she appreciated the ‘80s music emanating from inside. The Dolphin was like any other bar in these parts: open windows through which the music and shouting could be heard, palm trees in the tiny front yard, with spring breakers swarming what appeared to be every inch of free space. The area was lighted by colored neon and harsh white spotlights that sometimes blinded her, making it difficult to see what was going on.

The fat doorman put a beefy hand on Quinn’ shoulder and demanded ID. She pulled from her purse a phony ID the props department had mocked up for her character. The meathead didn’t even look twice as he waved her inside. The interior of the bar was alternately pitch black and saturated in color, and so deafeningly loud Quinn practically staggered under the visual and sonic onslaught. The many lights – both colored and white strobes that shined everywhere but illuminated nothing – almost hypnotized her.

She steadied herself against a wall and took a moment to get her bearings. Although she could barely hear or even see straight, she spotted the bar and made her way toward it, burrowing through the writhing crowd of dancing bodies. She suspected that somebody copped a feel of her butt and that sloshed blonde definitely meant to rub against her left breast. The mob at the bar was five bodies deep; too much to force her way through. She spotted a tiny space just being vacated by a surfer dude and a drunken girl, where the bar met the far wall, and made her way over. The slight crevasse in the mob gave her just enough room to wiggle up to the polished, heavy wooden bar.

Others must have noticed the pocket of empty space, because the crowd quickly filled in behind her. As she tried in vain to get the attention of the stacked, Megan Fox-wannabe barmaid, Quinn noticed the crowd getting pushy behind her. One guy in particular was brushing up against her. He wore silver mirrored sunglasses and a skewed baseball cap. She turned and gave him a dirty look, which usually convinced guys to back off. But when she turned back around she felt him push against her back, pressing her against the bar.

“Quit it!” she shouted, even though she could barely be heard.

He smiled goofily and mouthed, “Sorry.”

She turned again and waved for the barmaid. Then Quinn noticed a weight pressing against her. It was Mr. Sunglasses again, slowly pressing against her butt and back, forcing her against the bar. She tried to push back, but he resisted; in fact, he pushed harder, and Quinn was sure she could feel his... his thing pressed against her butt. She tried to turn, but he quickly pinned her against the bar with strong arms, so she could only turn her head.

“Hey! Get offa me!” she shouted.

He grinned and grabbed her hair in his right hand and turned her head back forward. Quinn felt him increase the pressure behind her, and then his hips started to rub against her butt. She quickly became aware of the growing lump pressing against the fabric covering the cleft of her butt.

“This guy’s a perv,” she said to herself. She tried to slide away to the side, but he held her. Quinn searched for help in the form of the barmaid, but she was currently lying on top of the bar, allowing a customer to lick tequila out of her navel.

“Please, stop!” Quinn screamed, elbowing her molester, but it was useless. Amid all the noise and flashing lights, she couldn’t possibly be seen or heard. Still, she screamed. To her horror, she felt him quicken the pace – he was grinding his cock on her soft ass faster and faster. She could feel his meat bouncing against her cheeks and then sliding between them.

She slapped and clawed at him, but he was too strong, and he was directly behind her; she couldn’t get away. He started slamming her harder and harder, violently forcing her against the bar. Then, one particularly violent thrust propelled her against the bar and knocked the wind out of her, so she found it impossible to call for help or even protest. Her tummy was being pounded against the bar, keeping her from catching her breath. She began to panic. She could feel her sarong being pulled off.

The bar was cluttered with empty beer bottles and ash trays, and the stench assaulted Quinn’ nostrils. “Unnngh! Nnnnggg! Ooooh!” she grunted as he slammed against her ass. Her brain seemed to disconnect and recalled stories she’d heard of men... French men (or was it Japanese?) who pleasured themselves by grinding against women in public. She used to think the stories were urban legends. Not anymore.

Quinn took comfort in the fact that nobody seemed to notice what was happening to her, and she hoped it would be over soon. The bastard would fill his shorts and have to rush out. In desperation, she decided to try to make him finish quickly. She started to match his rhythm.

Her assailant, who was slightly taller, leaned on her back and whispered in her ear as he kept molesting her: “Oh, baby, your ass is so fine, I’m gonna cum soooo good.” Quinn thought to herself, “Make it soon.”

As she had hoped, Quinn felt him quicken his pace. “Unnngh,” this is it, she thought. Then she felt him fumble around a bit with his hand, then two more violent humps.

Suddenly, Quinn felt a warm, wet spray shoot up her bare back to the base of her shoulders, and then across the top of her hips. “Oh, god,” she thought, “he took out his cock and came on me!”

The man grabbed her by the hair and violently forced Quinn’ head down on the wet, smelly wood of the bar, scattering empty bottles, and then let go. When Quinn turned around, her attacker was gone.

Gathering her wits, she grabbed some bar napkins and tried to wipe herself off, grateful for the wall as she turned her back to it. She cleaned herself off the best she could. Her only thought now was to get the hell out of this pit.

Then she spotted Mr. Sunglasses again. He was talking to two other guys, about the same age, mid-20s. One of the men, who was wearing a black hoodie, made eye contact and pushed toward Quinn. She looked for an avenue of escape, but the crowd was a living wall except in the direction of the men. Instantly the hoodie man grabbed her arm. Without a word he spun her around and forced her face into the wall. She felt his crotch slam against her ass.

“You little slut,” he hissed into her ear. You got my buddy off, now you’re gonna relieve me!”

“No, I didn’t!” she gasped. “He… he attacked me. He raped me!”

“Bullshit! He didn’t stick it in your stuck-up little ass! You little whore! You let him get off on you. You loved it. You want to fuck every guy in this goddamn place. And maybe I’ll make you do that... after I’m done!”

“Noooo… nnnggggghh!” Quinn grunted as he pressed her against the wall. She was having trouble breathing again. He was much heavier than the first man, and she couldn’t move an inch as he slammed her ass. Her head pressed to the side, she noticed the third man was watching with a grin on his face, his hands buried in his oversized sweat suit. He also seemed to be trying to obscure the view of anyone in the crowd who might be curious about what Hoodie was doing.

Tears fell from her eyes as the breath was forced from her lungs and her breasts crushed against the brick wall. She felt Hoodie’s hot, alcohol-tainted breath on the back of her neck. She concentrated on trying to breathe, and prayed Hoodie didn’t think to untie her bikini bottom and penetrate her.

Suddenly she felt herself whipped around and Hoodie pressed his face close to hers. He was a good head taller, and she realized she could feel his exposed cock on her bare stomach. She looked up at him in horror, and he smiled.

“Gunnghhh… nnunngg, unnggh,” he gasped as he rapidly humped her belly. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and Quinn again felt the hot, sticky spray of unwanted sperm against her skin, this time washing over her tummy and splashing the underside of her bikini top.

“Shhhiiiiitttttt” he moaned as he pressed against her, smearing himself with his own jizz as he grinded against her.

“Nooooo!” Quinn screamed as loud as she could and tried to push him away.

“Push her down!” she heard a third man, the one in the sweat suit, shout. Hoodie forced Quinn’s knees to buckle and suddenly she was on the filthy floor. She was disgusted by how sticky the floor was – covered in spilled beer and soda, it was littered with sharp peanut shells and popcorn, and smelled terrible.

She looked up in time to stare directly into the head of Sweatsuit’s cock. She screamed when the dick erupted, its first ghastly load striking her on the end of her nose, the second in her left eye, and the third on her left cheek.

“Ghhhhaaahhhkkk!” she choked and sputtered.

“Shit, you missed her mouth, Smitty!” somebody yelled.

Quinn desperately wiped at her eyes and face with her hands and let out a piercing scream that compelled her assailants to flee – just as some of the women in the crowd noticed what was happening. One brunette girl helped Quinn to her feet and leaned her against the bar, grabbing more napkins to clear her sight. While a blonde woman waved frantically at a bar back who was carrying a tray of glasses for help.

“You best get out of here, hoochie!” the bar man yelled at Quinn. “Mr. Toby don’t allow no whores to work inside his club. You wanna blow guys, you go out in the alley like everybody else.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Quinn stammered. “I’m not a prostitute… I was attacked. I’m an actress. I’m supposed to be researching a role.”

Two strong hands grabbed Quinn’ shoulders from behind, and another set of arms wrapped around her waist. Another bar back and the bouncer were suddenly upon her. She began kicking and struggling. “Tell it to the judge, jailbait!” the bouncer growled as Quinn felt herself lifted off her feet by her armpits and one of the guys encircling her right thigh with a strong arm. Still wriggling, she was carried to a side fire exit, where she was slammed against the heavy metal door and then flung through it like a sack of potatoes. She landed in a pile of black and green trash bags, some ripped open and smelling like they had been sitting in the hot Florida sun for days.

“And stay out, you little piece of trash!” shouted a loud voice.

The door slammed and echoed in the dirty side alley. Quinn partially sat up on the trash pile. She felt a sting where one of her knees was slightly bloody, but she didn’t notice that the bikini strings somehow had come untied at her right hip. Her tummy was covered with cum, and her back was still sticky. She scraped the last of the jizz off her cheek as a tear rolled down.

She dropped her head heavily on the trash pile and heaved a sigh.

“Shit!” she cursed, and began to cry…


	2. The Bitch

Quinn sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes as she lay on her back on the garbage bags outside the side door of “The Purple Dolphin.” The sultry night air was clammy on her exposed skin, and beads of sweat collected on her arms and legs. The gigantic collection of refuse bags had obviously been building for days or perhaps weeks, and leaned against the cheaply painted red and blue outer wall of the bar, which was defaced with shredded handbills and ripped, faded posters. Almost absent-mindedly she noted that the pile beneath her was soft, not rough or (thankfully) hard-edged, as if it contained broken glass or metal. Now that she thought about it, though, that probably meant the bags held rotten food and other foul stuff, as evidenced by the tiny pile of lettuce by her right hand. “Gross,” she thought to herself.

Quinn pulled at her purse and hunted for some tissues with which to wipe herself off. But before she could make another move, Quinn heard a threatening sound – two, actually. It was a deep, rumbling that immediately made her think of angry dogs. Slowly, she turned her head to the left and saw... two dogs. Two angry, growling dogs. Two angry, growling dogs that were staring right back at her. Was she on their territory or something? She tried to smile cutely to demonstrate her harmlessness – but remembered too late that showing teeth was a sign of aggression to dogs. Plus, she had stared one straight in the eyes. They were both roughly her size, and she knew, deep down, that they could tear her apart with those jaws if they wanted to.

Quinn tried to lift herself on her elbows, but the dogs bared their teeth in response as she moved. She froze, and then reflexively offered the dogs a smile. Damn it! The two animals moved toward her, and she carefully tried to move away. Keeping her lips pursed tight, she slowly got her feet under her as the beasts watched warily. Her eyes darted to each side, but saw no clear escape that wouldn’t bring her within range of saliva-soaked fangs. The actress felt her only avenue of retreat was actually behind her – up the mound of trash, which was actually considerably higher than she first thought; she couldn’t see the top. Perhaps the high ground would give her an advantage and intimidate the animals. She slowly started to sidle up the slippery, unstable slope.

As the two dogs started to climb the garbage mound beneath her, they were joined by another dog, this one only slightly smaller. As she finally reached the crest Quinn rose unsteadily to her feet. She was quite high off the hard concrete and asphalt of the alley. Unnoticed, her bikini bottom hung limply over her left thigh because it was only tied on her left hip. Somehow, during the struggle with the men when she was thrown out of the bar, her bottom had come untied on her right hip, and now she was standing with her neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair exposed as she stepped backward and leaned her back against the wall of the bar while the animals advanced.

The little abruptly dog rushed from her right, so Quinn stepped left, but she wrong-footed, and fell forward onto an unstable pile of roundish bags, bouncing and then landing on her knees toward the edge of the haphazard hill. The thin, disgusting plastic stuck to the sweat on her limbs, and she could feel something that oozed like water inside one bag. Then the green bag shifted under her and tumbled down the side of the mound and thumped heavily to the concrete, leaving Quinn flat on her belly, head and upper body hanging down over the edge of the pile, her bare ass on top. Her hands flailed and scratched wildly to find purchase someplace, anyplace that would prevent her from tumbling over the precipice onto the asphalt.

When she felt herself stabilized, Quinn looked around and realized she had lost sight of the dogs. Then she heard the growling behind her at the top of the pile. She managed to find a grip and hoist herself back onto the top of the pile, then turned to face the three grimacing, drooling animals. She tried to stay calm, but the idea of being torn to pieces by wild dogs does not exactly lend itself to serene thoughts. She frantically scanned the trash landscape for any sign of raw meat or bones or something she could use as a weapon to defend herself. She saw nothing. Quinn briefly mulled throwing herself over the side, but the specter of broken legs – or worse – made her take pause.

Her best chance to put some distance between herself and the animals – and the edge of the pile – seemed to be toward her right, so Quinn curled herself into a half-crouch and then scrambled to her right. But she lost her balance thanks to her ridiculously fashionable-yet-chunky sandals and she landed sharply on her knees. Her momentum rolled her forward, and she slammed her shoulder painfully into the blue-stained brick wall of the bar. Her upper arm was scuffed but not bleeding. “Shit,” she grumbled softly. “That’ll bruise,” briefly worrying about an upcoming photo shoot next week. She drew her knees up close to her chest, trying to protect herself and leaning her weakened right side against the wall.

The smaller dog was on her in seconds, growling and slobbering over her left arm as the other dogs swirled at her feet and knees. She could feel intermittent licking at her ankles around the straps of her sandals and at the sides of her calves, and for a blessed few seconds thought the dogs were actually just anxious to roughhouse with her. But then she felt one dog sniff and lick at her exposed butt.

“Hey! That’s rude!” Quinn shouted and tried to smack the dog, but he seemed to not even feel her swat. In fact, the dog moved in closer for another sniff at her butt, and while she was distracted by that, the smallest dog leaped clear over her to land beside the second dog, which had joined the first in sniffing and licking her bared ass.

“Hey,” she cried, and rotated around to a seated position. “Don’t you boys go getting any nasty ideas about... back there,” she scolded them. “They may call it ‘doggy style,’ but I’m not even thinking of going there.” She began to slide away, pushing herself with feet and pulling with her hands, but she didn’t get very far before her meticulously manicured fingernails punctured a bag and her hand was plunged into... something wet and mushy. She told herself it had to be sauerkraut and cream of mushroom soup as she sank into it up to her elbow – which threw her off-balance once again.

Quinn drew her arm back out of the sodden bag and spun around onto her hands and knees to try to keep moving away from the animals. Then she felt a great weight hit her from behind like a small car, and she was knocked onto her belly, the wind knocked out of her lungs. She struggled to catch her breath. She felt something wet between her thighs – and realized that her bikini bottom had come loose and left her entirely exposed!

“No!” Quinn screamed and tried to slam her thighs together, but a furry body blocked her legs and kept them apart. She felt another tongue against her lower lips. “No! Go away!” she squealed and pulled herself to her knees in an attempt to flee again. But then she felt one of the big dogs climb on her back... or at least on her hips, and she felt something hard and wet poking at her most precious, most private spot. “No! Get off!” she cried and shook her hips. But the animal didn’t take the hint. She felt a spray of liquid on the inside of her thighs and over her butt cheeks, and then another stream from another of the aggressive dogs.

The alpha dog started bucking his hips, poking his erect penis against her ass and thighs as it clumsily tried to penetrate her by trial and error. The other two dogs started circling around her wildly, yipping with excitement. The dog that had mounted Quinn began nipping at her, almost playfully as his front limbs hooked around her hips. Finally, he found her sweet spot and pushed himself inside her vagina. “Nnnnnoooooo!” Quinn pleaded in vain. “Don’t do that. Stop, please,” she cried, and collapsed onto her elbows. “Noooo... nonononono, please.” She felt her limbs being sapped of strength as the brutal animal overpowered her and started to rape her.

The dog seemed to be getting into a comfortable rhythm, and in practically no time Quinn could feel the dog start to cum – and it didn’t stop. He kept humping her and cumming, as if it had an endless supply of jizz. And every so often, after pumping her for a while it would pull out and start licking the juices dripping from her violated pussy before plunging back into her. She tried to move during those moments of relief, but she couldn’t get very far, as the sexual pounding was taking a lot out of her thigh muscles. She privately was thankful for all the exercise she does, or she knew she would be in agony already, but despaired that she was still not strong enough to escape her canine rapist.

Then, the moment came when the beast pulled out of her and suddenly walked around her side. Quinn thought she was free – but the second-largest dog seized his opportunity and mounted the “Bikini Spring” star. The beta beast had less of a problem finding her ravaged pussy – and met much less resistance to entry. Quinn half-choked and half-cried as this new animal penetrated her.

The Hollywood starlet’s face was pressed into a sticky trash bag as she was hammered even harder by this new, more aggressive animal. He was a different breed, and clearly had a different style. He humped much harder and deeper, and Quinn again found it hard to breathe and impossible to call for help. She struggled to stay on her knees and keep her butt in the air, but she did it because it eased the pain of his lustful banging.

Then, despite her fatigue, Quinn somehow found the strength to call out blindly. “Somebody!” she shouted. “Help me! Help!” What she didn’t realize was that her pleas were only slightly above a whisper; nothing like a scream. She could barely be heard beyond the trash pile. The only sounds any hypothetical passersby could hear would be the pulsing bass of the music leaking from the bar, the sound of dogs howling and a vague grunting that could have been a female dog or, yes, a human girl – it was hard to tell.

But Quinn knew she was a human girl, and she knew she didn’t deserve to be raped by dogs in a filthy alley behind a bar, but that’s what was happening to her. She wondered if it was good that her co-stars – whom she had just met – were not here. On the one hand, if they were here they would be able to help her – but they would also see her humiliation. And Quinn had a first-impression feeling that the tall girl, Rachel, was kind of a freak, and Quinn could imagine her masturbating while watching this horrific violation.

Quinn was brought back to terrifying reality by the sensation of the second dog cumming inside her. This goop felt thicker and warmer, and made cold tears roll down Quinn’s face. As she gasped for air while sobbing, she suddenly felt a familiar sensation deep in the core of her being... and the feeling sparked and grew as the hideous beast continued to pound her. “No,” Quinn suddenly thought. “No, God, please, no... I can’t. I can’t!” But she knew it was already too late. In fact, her shame and helplessness actually accelerated the feeling – and Quinn cursed under her breath as she felt herself orgasm.

She was helpless to stop herself. She was being betrayed by her body, which had no way of knowing that the rhythmic pounding she was taking came from a non-human source. All her body knew was that it was being stimulated, and it felt good. But her brain kept telling her it was wrong; wrong to have sex with an animal, even if it was non-consensual. But even if it was rape, it was still stimulating. And she was ashamed; so ashamed. And she climaxed again, and then again.

Quinn howled this time, adding her voice to the animals surrounding her, as if she were the pack’s willing bitch. Her body writhed, and she felt all the wristbands and jewelry on her wrist dig into the flesh of her body. Dully, she stared at the bar bracelets and stamps on her skin, reciting the names of the ones she could read, trying to distract herself from the terror of what was happening. She read a story once, a sci-fi story about hookers who could project their minds out of their bodies and into cyberspace while they were doing it with a client, leaving the john with an empty shell to fuck. She thought they called themselves meat puppets or something. Quinn tried to be a meat puppet right now. She tried to leave the dogs with nothing but the husk of her flesh. They could rape her body, but she was determined not to let the dogs fuck her mind.

But no matter how hard she tried, Quinn could not free her mind and abandon her body; she remained locked within her crudely violated flesh. She tried to raise herself up in her hands, but fell back onto her elbows, groaning in pain. The other two dogs sniffed around her shoulders and hair and licked at the sweat on her face. Their large, rough, wet tongues repulsed her. But it was even worse when the dogs would turn and briefly jam their cocks into her face and hair, leaving wet doggie sperm trails, as they were both still cumming. How did that work, she wondered?

The dogs suddenly became more interested in jabbing her face with their stiff, wet members. “Quit it!” Quinn shouted. And she surprised herself with how loud she was! The biggest dog really started trying to hump her face, so Quinn was vigorously shaking her head side-to-side, trying to avoid letting it into her mouth (or worse, her eyes!). “Stop, ugh, oh, you stupid fucking dog!” She tried to raise her hand to slap the penises away. “Get the fuck away from me!” she shouted. “Stop it! Stop raping me!” she screamed. Quinn realized she had found her voice again!

“Help! Help!” she screamed. “Help me! I’m up here! I’m getting raped... I’m being attacked! Help, I’m on this garbage pile!” Suddenly, Quinn felt something in her mouth, blocking her newfound voice. It was a cock! She tried to pull her head back or shake it out, but her movements were limited. She felt the beast’s sperm projected into her throat and she gagged, but it was difficult to get air through her nose and into her lungs.

She despaired of ever being able to breathe again, let alone be rescued when she suddenly heard a tentative female voice from somewhere in the alley below.

“Hello?” the voice called out. “Is someone there?”

Quinn then heard what sounded like a couple of male voices. She couldn’t make out any words, but the exchange sounded tense. Then she heard, “I know I heard a girl, Danny!” said the female voice. “She sounded like she was in trouble.”

“There’s nobody in this alley,” one of the male voices responded. “You’re hearing things.”

Quinn’s eyes widened with panic. She began to make inarticulate screeches around the dog’s cock and flailing her arms and shaking her body. The dog that was fucking her started to howl.

“There, ya see?” Danny said. “It’s just some dogs fucking.”

Tears streamed down Quinn’s face... she was losing her only chance at rescue! She managed to get herself back up on her hands and supporting herself with her left hand, she used her right to push at the dog – and she managed to free her mouth.

“Help! Help me!” she cried, desperately. “I’m up here; I’m on the garbage pile! Oh, God, help me there’s too many of them, they’re all attacking –“ and then she was silenced as the big dog’s cock found her warm, wet mouth again.

“See? I told you,” the girl’s voice said. “She is in trouble!” There was the sound of shuffling feet and then the screech of plastic as Quinn heard people climbing the stack of garbage bags. She allowed herself to feel hope for first time since she was molested in the bar earlier tonight.

The face of a young woman with blonde hair suddenly appeared over the edge of the trash pile. “Omigod!” she screamed. “Danny get up here! It’s a girl and she’s being attacked by a bunch of dogs!” The woman scrambled awkwardly over the lip of the pile, and Quinn could see she was in her late teens, wearing a bikini top and shorts. Quinn pondered the meaning of being rescued by a pretty girl as the newcomer gained her balance on the plateau where Quinn was being violated.

“Go wan!” she shouted at the dogs. “Get out of here! Leave her alone! Leave her alone, you bastards!”

Then two male figures, dressed in surfer baggies and multicolored button-down shirts and sandals, crested the pile and joined their friend. “Jesus Christ, Maggie, what the fuck?” said the taller man.

“What does it look like, Danny? They’re fuckin’ fucking her!”

“Holy shit,” Danny replied.

“Go get them off her!” Maggie ordered. “You, too, Jeff! Help that poor girl!”

The two men, who appeared to be in their early 20s, rushed forward as Maggie found a loose piece of trash to hurl at the dogs, to no effect. Danny and Jeff shouted and clapped their hands as they approached the dogs and their victim. The dogs growled defensively and bared their teeth. Jeff picked up a bulky garbage bag and threw it at the big dog, the one not engaged with Quinn. The bag was heavy, and it hit the canine with a satisfying thud. The dog yelped and made a hurt sound and started to back away. Seeing their alpha back off, the other two dogs disengaged from each end of Quinn and stepped back. Danny landed a glancing kick to the flanks of the dog that had been in the girl’s mouth. It barked and bared its fangs as it withdrew. Danny knew he didn’t really hurt the animal, but it seemed to be enough to send it toward the alpha, near the brick wall.

Jeff hurled another garbage bag, and that was enough to scare off the alpha, which suddenly bolted toward the far end of the garbage pile, his minions following at his heels, whining.

The moment the dogs pulled out of her, Quinn collapsed onto her belly. She tried to gather her breath and wits, but it was all a blur of shouting men and barking dogs and swirls of motion and overpowering putrid smells. She managed to get to her hands and knees and started crawling in a random direction. Then she felt soft hands on her shoulders.

“Hey, hon, wait, don’t... stop it, you’re okay now,” Maggie said as Quinn reflexively slapped at the confining hands and shrieked nonsense. “It’s okay, you’re safe, you’re safe now, they won’t hurt you anymore.”

Danny and Jeff came over. “Dogs are gone,” Jeff said. “Jesus, did they really... y’know, like, actually fuck her, or were they just, like, climbing all over her?”

Maggie reached toward Quinn’s rear end and thighs, scooping a foul, sticky mixture of dog semen and blood from the girl’s skin. “Does this answer your question? Yes, she was being raped. Probably by more than one of them.” She enfolded the sobbing Quinn in her arms.

“Shit, I thought that only happened in Japanese porn,” said Jeff. “I didn’t think dogs really did that.”

“We have to get her to a hospital,” Maggie said. “Help me get her down from here.”

“Helping” turned out to mean “you boys do it for me,” but the men got Quinn down to the alley, where she could not keep her feet and quickly collapsed. Maggie squatted down and checked Quinn’s pulse, which was still strong.

“Oh, shit,” Maggie said, suddenly standing and backing away. “You know who this is? Do you recognize her?”

“What?” said Danny. “No. Is she a friend? Do you know her?”

“No, she’s not... but, Danny, she’s famous! She’s a movie star! That’s Quinn Kane!”

“Who?” Danny asked.

“No way!” Jeff shouted. “The girl from that TV show? She’s a piece of ass!”

“Oh, yeah, the one with the legs,” Danny said. “Fuck, no shit the dogs wanted to tap dat ass! I’d hit it too!” He high-fived a chuckling Jeff.

“You two cut the shit,” Maggie demanded. “We have to get her to a hospital. She could get an infection or something.”

Danny fumbled in the pocket of his board shorts. “Hold up, hold up, I need to Facebook this!” he said as he pulled out his camera and began taking flash pictures.

“Danny, don’t be an ass, you can see her kitty and everything,” Maggie whined. “Don’t.”

“Fuck that,” Jeff chimed in as he pulled out his camera. “How often do we get to take pictures with a naked Hollywood celebrity?” He squatted next to the helpless actress and snapped a series of selfies.

“Me now, me now,” Danny said and he took his turn with his camera, even reaching down to dip his fingers into the goo leaking from Quinn’s privates.

“Oh, all right,” Maggie chuckled, pulling out her own cameras for selfies. She pressed her face against Quinn’s and pretended to lick the jizz leaking from the actress’ mouth.

“Kiss her Maggie!” Danny demanded. “C’mon, kiss her! You know you want to.”

“Pervs, I do not!”

“Yeah, all girls are into that lesbo shit, c’mon,” Jeff added.

“She’s got dog cum in her mouth!” Maggie protested.

“Then suck some out and play with it... it’s just jizz,” Danny told her. “Not like you’ve never had cum in your mouth before.”

“Fuck you,” Maggie said. Then she kissed Quinn full on the mouth, and stuck her tongue into the traumatized girl’s mouth, withdrawing with canine jizz on her own tongue. She managed a grin for her selfie and her friends’ photos. Emboldened, Maggie pulled her top aside and exposed her nipples, then pulled Quinn’s breasts out of her top and kissed them for the camera.

Then the trio heard the sound of people exiting the back door of the bar – a group of drunken spring breakers – so they picked up their helpless new “friend” and headed down the alley into the darkness, in the opposite direction from the revelers.

A breeze wafted down the alley and helped Quinn start to think. She felt herself suspended by the arms between two men, sort of being dragged as they moved down the rough pavement.

“What’s happening?” Quinn asked, weakly. “Where are we going? Who are you?” she asked, more strongly now. She could tell they were discussing – or arguing about – her. And a house. Or was that hospital? She hoped for a hospital.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” Maggie said. “You’re safe now.”

“Who are you?” Quinn demanded. She tried to stop her feet from moving, but the boys had momentum. She saw a dark-colored van. She heard the side door slide open, then she was roughly tossed into the cool darkness inside and the door slammed shut.


	3. The Van

The interior of the van was dark until the dome lights came on as Danny and Jeff climbed into the front, Jeff taking the wheel and Danny in the passenger seat. As the engine revved, Quinn was suddenly aware that Maggie was next to her, sitting on the carpeted floor and adjusting her bikini top. The small white triangles had horizontal black pinstriping. 

The girls rocked in unison as the van lurched into motion. Maggie called out to Danny. “Yo, gimmie one of the waters... those bottles at your feet,” she said. She expertly caught the plastic container Danny tossed to her and twisted off the cap. “Here, drink this,” she cooed to the film star. “You’ll feel better.”

Quinn suddenly remembered how thirsty she was. Her mouth was parched from the desperation of her struggle with the animals and trying to scream. She greedily gulped at the cool water, wanting to wash the horrible, strange tastes out of her mouth almost as much as she needed to slake her thirst. But after three strong pulls, the actress suddenly coughed and spit out a mouthful of the water onto her bare breasts and tummy. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” she gasped.

“No, you’ll be fine, Quinn, just drink a little more,” Maggie urged.

“Did she drink enough?” Danny asked. He had turned around in his seat and was kneeling, looking back into the van, which was crammed with surfboards, a duffel bag, car shit Quinn couldn’t identify and a couple of bulging garbage bags not unlike the pile on which she had just been victimized. The whole interior smelled vaguely of old sweat and cheap weed.

“Shut the fuck up, Danny,” Maggie scolded.

The tone of the girl’s particularly harsh admonishment made Quinn take notice. She sluggishly looked at the bottle she’d been drinking from. In the dim light it was hard to tell, but as she squinted, she could make out a vague, translucent blue color inside the water bottle.

“Ro... Rohypnol,” Quinn muttered as she continued to stare.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “You’re right, dearie, it’s flunitrazepam,” said Maggie in a condescending voice.

“You have to forgive Maggie,” Jeff said with a snort. “She’s a nursing student. We keep her around because she sounds smart.”

“And because she has sweet little titties!” Jeff chimed in, drawing a punch in the arm from Danny.

“Date-rape drug,” Quinn sighed. “But why, I thought you said you’d take me to the hospital?”

Maggie smiled. “We didn’t say when we’d take you. We just want to have a little fun first. You’re not hurt too bad. I’ve got Band-Aids for those scrapes on your knees.” She fumbled in the shadows and pulled out a backpack with Japanese anime patches on it and started rummaging inside. “Somewhere in here....”

“Fuck your Band-Aids, bitch!” Quinn fumed as she wiped goo off the side of her cheek. “I just got gang-raped by a pack of dogs! I need to go to the hospital, now!” She looked down, horrified at the sight of the dog semen tinged with streaks of blood leaking from her vagina onto the faded carpet of the van floor. Her bikini bottom was gone. “And give me something to wear, for God’s sake, I’m naked here!” She adjusted her metallic gold bikini top to re-cover her nipples.

“Calm down, calm down,” Maggie said as Quinn got to her knees and tried to get up.

Danny clambered over the front console and into the back of the van. “Sit down! Jesus, don’t—“

At that moment the van lurched to the right as Jeff took a sharp left. Now the van was bouncing over what was clearly an unpaved road. “Fuck, Jeff, who taught you how to drive?”

“Fuck you, asshat – you come up here and drive!”

“No way, man, I wanna have some fun.” Danny said as he started to unzip his baggy shorts.

Quinn had been rolled back into a sitting position. “Hang on, let’s not get crazy, here,” she stuttered as she tried to slide backward. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m gonna do more than think about it, gorgeous, I’m gonna get my freak on with a famous hottie!” Danny said. “Always wanted me some celebrity pussy.”

Maggie held her hand, palm out, toward him. “The drug hasn’t had time to take effect, Danny,” she said.

“So fuckin’ help me – hold her down or something,” he replied with contempt. “Don’t be such a bimbo, Maggs.”

Maggie was clearly hurt by the remark; her eyes instantly looking down as she turned her face away from him with a pout. For an instant, Quinn felt a twinge of pain for the blonde girl, who obviously felt more deeply for Danny than he felt about her. But she snapped out of sympathy mode when Maggie brushed her hair out of her eyes, sighed and said, “Okay.”

The van dipped hard and bounced the three occupants of the rear high off the deck and then back down, painfully. “Shit, Jeff!” Maggie complained, only to be met with snarling, incoherent threats from the driver.

Quinn had no idea where they were headed. From her vantage point, she could see nothing but darkness through the high rear windows on the van’s back doors – but she did notice she wasn’t seeing street lights, and that, combined with the rough ride, suggested they were driving out of town, probably on dirt roads. She only had quick glimpses out the front windshield and could only make out darkness and the headlights glinting off trees and bushes. She knew the bar where she had started was not far from the Everglades, and her heart froze as she contemplated what could happen in the trackless jungle-like wilderness. If these three were not willing to bring her back to town, how would she find her way back alone? Did they even have any intention of bringing her back to civilization, let alone to a hospital?

Maggie got to her knees and peeled off her tight shorts, revealing her bikini bottom, striped like her top. She tossed the shorts aside and advanced on Quinn. “C’mon, Quinn, it won’t be so bad – especially not compared to the dogs.”

Danny sighed. “Oh, sure, you go first,” he cracked.

Maggie fixed him with a stare. “Ladies first,” she sniffed. “Ain’t that right, Quinn?”

Quinn’s eyes grew wide with terror. She didn’t want to even contemplate being raped again, even by people; she was a human being, too, and deserved better. “No! Stay away from me,” the actress warned.

But Danny grabbed her left arm and pulled Quinn toward him, while Maggie got a grip on Quinn’s right leg. Quinn kicked and struggled, and managed to connect on a flailing kick to Maggie’s right breast. “Oww!” she shouted and cradled her chest. “Bitch kicked me in the boob!”

Danny shifted his grip on the wriggling actress and managed to pin both of Quinn’s arms behind her. “Go ahead, get her back!” Danny urged. “Punch her in the tits!”

Maggie bit her lower lip as she awkwardly swung a balled-up fist at Quinn’s chest and connected with a small slapping sound. Quinn grimaced but didn’t cry out.

“Hey, no fair, I can’t see!” Jeff shouted from the front. “I want to watch, too!”

“Just drive,” Danny called out to him. “You’ll get your chance. This little hottie isn’t going anywhere soon. Not until we’ve all had our fill of her. Every one of us.” Then he turned back to his girlfriend. “Damn, Maggie, that’s so fucking hot! Hit her tits again! Harder!”

Maggie smirked evilly, and this time smacked Quinn’s left breast with an open-handed slap that made a loud, satisfying noise. This time Quinn let out a small moan, because the slap actually hurt.

“Oh, God, yeah, you’re making me hard, Maggie! Torture those tits!” Danny pressed his crotch against Quinn’ full, soft ass, and she could feel his hardness. But she could also feel the pain as Maggie started repeatedly slapping her tits. Quinn clenched her eyes and twisted up her face as she endured the cruel blows.

Then Maggie suddenly moved toward the actress had cradled those same breasts softly and started to kiss them. “Stop it!” Quinn protested. “Let go of me! Get off me! I don’t want this!” But Maggie kept kissing her.

Danny shook his prisoner and squeezed her arms painfully behind her back. “This isn’t about what you want, you privileged Hollywood slut!” he hissed in her ear. “This is about what we want! And we want you.”

What Maggie wanted now was to be more tender than cruel. She kissed Quinn’s right breast and then licked her nipple, teasing it with her tongue. She looked anxiously up at Quinn’s face, trying to gauge if the star was enjoying the change from violence, but Quinn’s visage was blank as she steadfastly stared straight ahead, silently.

Maggie started kissing her way down Quinn’s chest to her torso, and then stopped to carefully and lovingly kiss and lick the star’s bellybutton. Quinn had a piece of sparkly jewelry piercing her navel, and Maggie took the short, dangly part of it into her mouth and sucked on it, then pulled it playfully. Checking Quinn’s face again, Maggie was pleased to see the actress’ eyes were now closed and her lips tightly pursed. She took that to mean Quinn liked what was happening. Emboldened, Maggie gave another tug on the navel jewelry and then continued her downward progression. The blonde was delighted to discover an ever-so-faint treasure trail from Quinn’s navel, leading down to her carefully cropped pubic hair. She slowly planted little kisses along the delicate line, pausing to capture a few of the tiny hairs between her lips and take little licks. Quinn seemed to respond best to Maggie’s tiny licks, so she tried to do what the actress liked, and was rewarded by Quinn’s hips squirming beneath her. Maggie chuckled to herself because Quinn could not help herself. Maggie slipped one hand into her own bikini bottom and fingered her own pubic hair, then dipped a fingertip into her pussy, enjoying the wetness there.

Danny pressed his cock harder against Quinn’s ass. She remembered the feeling from the bar and was repulsed by it. “C’mon, get on with it,” Danny moaned. “You chicks and your foreplay! Get her slicked up and let me in there!”

Maggie slid her chin down over Quinn’s carefully cultivated muff and buried her nose in the singer’s pubic hair.

“She’s plenty wet down here,” Maggie said, forcing a finger into Quinn’s pussy and pulling out a glob of sloppy whitish dog semen. “There’s more lubrication here than you’ve even seen. You’ll probably blow your load on your first thrust.”

“Fuck you, Maggie; I’ll give you a first thrust!” Danny spat back. Even he wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

Hesitantly, Maggie lowered her face to Quinn’s most private area and tentatively stuck out her tongue to lightly touch the actress’ labia. She recognized the powerful aroma and odd taste of the dog semen that she had earlier sampled from Quinn’s mouth. Maggie closed one eye and pushed her tongue into Quinn’s slit and wiggled it a bit, before withdrawing and smacking her lips with her face scrunched, as if she had just sucked a lemon.

“What’s happening? It got quiet!” Jeff demanded, his distraction from the road causing the van to swerve and bounce again.

“Maggie just started eating the doggie cum out of her pussy,” Danny said in a bored voice, like it happened every day. “Just watch the damn road, asshole!”

Maggie returned to Quinn’s snatch, this time determined to really go to work. “This is gonna be hot,” she whispered to herself as she extended her tongue and sealed her mouth over the actress’ pussy. She closed her eyes and started working her tongue. She pushed harder and felt her nose graze against Quinn’s clit. The actress suddenly spasmed in Danny’s arms, and her thighs kicked. Maggie pressed her nose on Quinn’s button and rubbed it hard as she kept her tongue moving.

“Stop it! Please, don’t!” Quinn cried, but then stopped as she felt something different. Her head suddenly started to feel like it was full of cement or stuffed with cotton, and she was having trouble holding her head up; it rocked and bounced on her neck as she started to groan. Quinn realized what was happening: the Rohypnol was taking effect! The star felt her limbs grow heavy, and in another few seconds she could no longer feel her legs – “the best legs in the business,” she thought to herself. She knew she was going to pass out and that the drug would make her suffer at least some amnesia whenever she woke up.

“Danny, Jeff and Maggie,” Quinn recited to herself. “Danny, Jeff and Maggie. Remember: Danny, Jeff and Maggie. It was Danny, Jeff and Maggie.” The interior of the van started to look foggy and grew even darker. Sound was distorted. She wondered how much of the drug she had drunk, but realized it didn’t matter now; however much it had been, it had been enough.

Quinn clung to consciousness as fiercely as she could – but it was futile. Everything began to spin. In her blurred vision she imagined Maggie slowly floating up into the air from between her thighs. She felt Danny release his hammerlock on her arms and start to float as well. And, finally, Quinn imagined herself floating and rotating in the air. Everything else in the back of the van spun, too. She tried to speak, but couldn’t hear herself; just a long, low, metallic groaning punctuated by louder jolts of white noise. The last thing she could remember, Quinn thought she was lying on the roof of the van, looking down at the floor, like an out-of-body experience. She looked at the strange puddle of animal goo that had drained out of her earlier. Unbelievably, drops of it began rising into air, falling upward toward her.

[Blackness]

The first sensation to return was sound, but Quinn heard only a puzzling series of buzzing noises. Then came her sense of smell, but she couldn’t identify the sharp, acrid aroma that surrounded her. Then Quinn became aware of feeling from her skin. She deduced she was lying on her back. And her backside hurt. It hurt bad. And the back of her head hurt. She decided to try opening her eyes. As her eyelids fluttered and she tried to focus, she saw darkness – but it wasn’t as dark as she remembered. Then she doubted what she saw, because she was again looking at the floor of the van as if she was above it. She spread her fingers and felt only hard metal, not carpet. It was metal like the van’s roof. Something inside her left elbow throbbed. Blinking, she fixed her gaze on what she was looking at. Yes, that was definitely the carpeted floor of the van, stain and all – but how could it be? Surely she had imagined all that stuff about floating; it was the effects of the drug.

But the evidence of her eyes and other senses countered that. She hadn’t hallucinated everything. So what had happened? Noticing the jumble of junk around her, Quinn deduced that the van had crashed and rolled over just as she was passing out. Jeff must have taken his eyes off the rough road one too many times. But if the van had crashed, where was everyone else? Did they leave her for dead?

Quinn rolled her head to the left and stared directly into Maggie’s face, just inches away. Maggie was silently staring at the celebrity with goggle-eyed intensity. But something was off; her gaze wasn’t focused. After a few seconds Quinn realized the younger woman’s neck didn’t look right, either. In fact, it was broken, and the weird stare came from her eyes being lifeless. Quinn gasped and stifled a scream by reflexively clamping a hand over her mouth.

She bolted upright and looked around. One of Maggie’s arms was broken at a terrible angle. Then she saw Danny and let out a full-throated scream of terror and scrambled to her feet. Danny was lying to her right, clearly dead from a bloody wound to his torso. She could make out some kind of metal tool or bar that had pierced his stomach. His body was covered with congealing blood and his legs were twisted and bloody, as if his spine had been severed. His eyes were open, too, and his mouth was agape, as if he had died in extreme pain. Quinn lost her balance and leaned backward against the van wall. Her mind was spinning again, and she looked around, completely bewildered.

She noticed one of the rear doors of the van was open, and she blindly stepped over Maggie’s body and charged out the opening, almost immediately stumbling to the ground. She retched and vomited loudly, her diaphragm spasming violently. She tried not to think what was in the lumpy, fluid mass pouring out of her mouth. She simply braced herself on all fours, not even caring about getting vomit in her long, black hair. When she finally finished (after what felt like 15 minutes) she rolled to her left and collapsed on the ground. She noticed that the buzzing she had heard earlier was much louder. It was the sound of insects in the night air of the forest all around her.

Quinn had no idea how long she lay there, or even whether she had remained conscious. But at some point she decided to get up. She looked at herself. Somehow, she had survived the crash with nothing more than bruises and minor scrapes. She figured she must have been limp and relaxed when the van flipped over, so her body absorbed the blows and rolled with the impacts; the others must have resisted and broken bones and... well. She stumbled back to the van and peered inside again. She had to confirm to herself that her attackers were really dead. Their bodies were still there. They had not reanimated like zombies in a movie.

But what about Jeff, the driver?

Quinn struggled to walk as she went around the inverted van to the front. The windshield was broken by a huge hole on the driver’s side. Looking inside the cab, Jeff was nowhere to be seen. She noticed the driver’s seat belt was fully retracted and looked undisturbed. The hole in the glass was certainly large enough to have been made by a man being ejected in a crash. She turned around and searched the darkness in a generally straight-ahead direction. About 30 feet further on, faintly illuminated by the still-functioning headlights, she saw the bright colors of a shirt splattered with something wet at the base of large, old tree. It was Jeff. She fearfully crept forward, nervous that he was waiting for her to get close enough to spring on her. But he never moved. She got close enough to see – to her utter horror – that one leg was missing from his board shorts and his arms were akimbo. Jeff’s head was split open, and the tree bark smeared with something like lumpy strawberry jelly. She stumbled backward and fell on her naked, bruised butt, then rolled onto her belly in the grass and started retching again. Although there was nothing left in her stomach by this point, she still suffered dry heaves that squeezed tears out of her eyes.

She wasn’t crying for the dead; it was just a release of all the tension and drama that had built up over the course of this terrible night, from being molested at the bar to gang-raped by dogs to kidnapped and sexually assaulted by weirdos. How could she process it all? Then she remembered the drug and wondered if she was able to recall everything that had happened. What if there had been other things? Worse things that she can’t remember? If she was feeling this traumatized over what she could remember right now, would she even be able to deal with any additional memories that might return later? Even years later? Quinn shivered– but it wasn’t the chill predawn air that was getting to her. It was an image of her in a straitjacket, locked in a padded room, screaming....

After a few minutes, Quinn pulled herself together. She stood and tried to figure out what to do next. She wanted to get away from here. She wanted to go home and forget this whole night had ever happened. Something wet trickled on her thigh. Quinn closed her eyes and silently cursed. Then she squatted down and concentrated. She focused and grunted as she marshaled her muscles to force the remaining semen out of her vagina. As the spunk was pushed out of her, she relived the horror of being the dogs’ plaything; their cum dumpster; their fuckdoll. She had never felt more helpless. When the hellish flow stopped issuing from her innards, Quinn stood straight and vowed that she would never be that helpless ever again.

With a newly confident stride she returned to the accident site. She had to get away from here. She had to keep moving. The van was useless. She had no idea where she was, but figured she was probably somewhere in the Everglades. That meant a lot of forest – and forest creatures, like snakes and huge bugs. And crocodiles! Quinn spun and searched in every direction for a creek or waterway. Did crocodiles hunt at night? Or was that alligators? Luckily, she didn’t see or hear any water around her.

First thing first, she thought: I need clothes. The Florida Everglades was no place to be walking around bottomless in the middle of the night! She found the backpack that Maggie had been searching through earlier, but it was full of cosmetics and toiletries. There was only surfboard wax and automotive junk in the other bags. She had been hoping to find a wetsuit to keep her warm, but no such luck. The duffel bag was gone. She looked at Danny, but his clothes were completely covered in blood. Jeff was also too broken and bloodied to salvage any of his clothes. So she turned to Maggie. The girl’s neck was broken, thus she wasn’t covered in blood. Quinn looked for the shorts the girl had removed, but they were nowhere to be seen. Desperate, Quinn resigned herself to touching the dead body. She took a deep breath and lifted Maggie’s hips, tugging on her bikini bottoms. Quinn pulled them down the dead girl’s cold legs and over her bare feet. Closing her eyes and taking another deep breath through trembling lips, Quinn stepped into the leg holes and pulled the swimwear up her legs. They were a little tight going up her thighs, but the material stretched and slid up to her hips. Quinn gasped and made a little sobbing sound as Maggie’s bikini slid tightly over her sex and she could feel the crotch fabric was wet and cold. Nauseated, she momentarily considered pulling the bikini off and going nude, but she really didn’t want to do that. She most likely would have to hitchhike, and standing on the roadside bare-assed would be a huge problem. It was awkward enough that the too-small bikini bottom left a lot of butt crack exposed and showed off a very immodest and embarrassing camel toe. 

Searching the wreckage, Quinn could not find her own purse – did she even have it in the van, or was left behind in that hellish alley? – but she was able to locate Maggie’s cell phone. The battery was almost dead, but it didn’t matter because there was no reception. Rifling through the cab, however, yielded a reward: two chocolate-chip granola bars, one of which Quinn tore open and savagely devoured in seconds. She looked forlornly at the few bottles of water she could find; one contained a blue liquid – indicating it was spiked – and the other two were clear. But she couldn’t trust that they were not also drugged.

Dumping out the contents of the backpack, Quinn deposited the phone and the other granola bar inside and slung it on her back. When she stepped out of the van the sky was clear and full of stars, and it was just beginning to lighten in one direction. She knew that was east; luckily, the sparse dirt path that Jeff had been driving led in that general direction, so she decided to head for the sun. Quinn sucked in a deep breath through her nose and then exhaled it through her mouth. And she started walking.


	4. The Trapper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn bumps into a very odd collection of travelers in the swamp - and lives to regret it! But the swamp sure is pretty...

Once the sky had brightened a bit more, Quinn stopped and realized she had lost the tire ruts of the “road” she had been following. She had been picking her way along in the semidarkness, trying to be as careful as possible not to fall and hurt herself, but perhaps she should have paid more attention to the rising sun. To her dismay, she saw the sun peeking over the horizon far to her left, meaning she had been traveling more southeast than east, but there was nothing to do about that now.

And then her face was suddenly wrapped in something wet and clingy that felt like a net made of hair; it attached itself to her cheeks and neck, and she clawed at it with her hands. Her right hand seized on something firm, about two inches in size. It felt something like a grape. She opened her hand to see a spider: brown, orange and white, with ugly tufts of hair on the legs. She screamed and tossed it as far away as she could, not knowing it was a harmless golden silk spider. As she staggered forward, she looked back to see she had walked right into its web. A handful of other large webs – some a full yard across! – were suspended from low tree branches, heavy with morning dew. A fat spider sat smack dab in the middle of each orb.

With a shiver that bounced down and back up her spine, Quinn took off running about 30 feet in some random direction away from the webs. She stopped and leaned against a tree, gasping for breath. Then she once again furiously slapped at her face to make sure no more webbing remained. Then she panicked and started screaming and rooting through her hair, pulling at it with her fingers, shouting, “Get it out! Get it out, Getitout!” But there were no spiders in her hair. Well, as far as she could tell.

“I must look like a madwoman,” Quinn sighed as she sank to her knees underneath the tree. Her hair, which had started the night in a fashionable loose updo, was now a shambles that she had to keep brushing out of her face. Her pretty legs and her arms could almost be read like Braille, they were so covered with mosquito bites. They could never be covered by makeup for her photo shoot. The sun was rising quickly, but she was sitting in the shade of the tree. “I just need a little rest,” she told herself. “Not something drug-induced, just a true nap.” She curled up in the shade and rested her head on her mostly empty backpack. Before she knew it, she was asleep. 

Quinn was awakened by something wet landing on her cheek. Several wet drops. “Is it raining?” she mumbled. “That’s all I need now.” Her eyelids fluttered open as the small shower continued. Looking up, she was greeted by the grotesque sight of a penis, its swollen purple head spewing sperm down on her face. “What? Oh, fuck!” Quinn cried.

She heard laughter in response; laughter that came from the owner of that penis, who was now returning it to his jeans and zipping up. “Rise and shine, little camper girl! Sun’s out, cock’s out!” he laughed in a thoroughly unpleasant voice.

Quinn sat up and wiped the jizz off her face. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at her latest assailant. He was probably in his late 40s, thin but not malnourished, dressed in worn dirty jeans and a faded orange T-shirt with a barely legible graphic of an orange leaking juice under the logo “Squeeze One Out!” The straps of a green backpack encircled his armpits. His arms were sculpted and strong, as if by hard labor. His hair was a bit shaggy and uncombed, which went with his unshaven face and disturbingly bright blue eyes. If Quinn hadn’t known what he just did, she might have assumed his face looked kind.

“Are you awake yet, or do you need some protein for your tummy?” the man demanded.

“No, no,” Quinn responded, wiping the last of the gunk off her face. “I’m awake, I’m awake. Don’t... you’ve done enough already.” Quinn quickly climbed to her feet immediately in front of the man, who backpedaled two steps and reached behind his back to pull out a gun and point it at her.

“Easy, girl,” he shouted. “Take it easy. No sudden moves.” Quinn started to raise her hands but froze instead. “Now, I seen you don’t have no gun on you, so there’s nothing you can do and no reason to get yourself shot in the face. And it’s too pretty a face to ruin for nothin’,” he warned her. “Now get over here and join the others.” Confused, Quinn slowly bent to pick up her backpack, which the gunman then confiscated from her.

Quinn noticed that the man’s left hand was holding a red-and-yellow nylon rope. It trailed away behind him about 10 feet, to where stood a man and a young girl. The gunman motioned to Quinn with his weapon, and they walked toward the duo. The man was in his late 20s or early 30s, fit-looking, in a yellow T-shirt and brown swim trunks that went to his knees. He wore heavy sandals that were caked with dried mud. Behind the man stood a young girl, her face mostly obscured by a tangled thatch of long dirty-blonde hair that needed brushing. The slim girl was wearing a dark-blue one-piece swimsuit with neon-green piping, which had dark stains on the chest and stomach areas. Her bare feet were dirty with dried mud and her legs covered with dust. 

And there was one more thing: Both the man and girl were bound! The man’s hands were secured in front of him by white plastic zip-tie handcuffs, the type Quinn had seen cops use during riots. The girl’s hands were also tied wrist-to-wrist in front of her. A length of nylon rope linked her wrist ties to the man’s, and the rope the gunman held was tied to a noose around the adult prisoner’s neck.

The sullen-faced girl avoided Quinn’s eyes, but she looked to be about 12 years old, based on her undeveloped frame and very long legs. Quinn assumed the girl was the man in yellow’s daughter, as she kept casting her eyes toward him.

“This here’s Alan,” said the gunman. “And that there’s his little girl, Alice. Ain’t she a pretty one?” He looked at Quinn. “She’s prettier than you, even.” Quinn ignored that remark.

“You can call me Amaury,” the man said as he knelt down and, keeping the handgun aimed in Quinn’s general direction, inspected her backpack. “Shit, no cell phone gonna work out here, little girl,” he spat and tossed the pack to her. “Does it matter what to you what I call you?”

“Quinn,” the movie star responded. “Call me Quinn.

Amaury unslung his pack and removed another set of zip-tie cuffs and a short length of rope.

Quinn backed up. “What are you gonna do with that stuff?” she asked, her voice trembling. 

“What do you think?” Amaury replied. In a second he was on her, easily securing her wrists in front of her. He fastened the rope to the cuffs and pulled Quinn over to the little girl, where he tied that rope to her cuffs. “Damn if this ain’t the most successful hunting trip I ever been on! Three great trophies in two days.” 

Amaury pulled on his backpack and walked ahead of Alan, then tugged on the rope. “Wagons, ho!” he laughed and started walking, dragging his “trophies” behind him. 

As Quinn struggled to adjust to the pace, she tried talking to Alice. “What happened to you and your father?” she asked. Alice didn’t respond; she just looked at the ground. 

“We were camping, several miles back,” Alan said, turning his head back as much as he could. “My daughter and I were grabbed as we were coming back from swimming in a spring. The bluest water you ever did see,” he said with a hint of a smile. “The water comes up from underground. It’s pure and crystal-clear. Remember that, honey?” But Alice didn’t look at him.

“What happened to your wife?” Quinn asked.

Alan’s face was crossed with panic. “No wife!” he said quickly. “Didn’t bring the wife. Divorced. I’m divorced from the old bat. She wasn’t on this trip.” Alan seemed distraught and gave his head a quick shake, his eyes pleading. Quinn nodded thoughtfully.

After a few more steps, Quinn decided to try to distract Alice. “My name is Quinn,” she said. “Can you tell me how old you are, Alice?”

“I’m 11,” Alice replied.

“Eleven is a great age,” Quinn offered. “I loved being 11. Sometimes I wish I was still 11. Have you seen any cool animals around here?”

Alice shrugged, and after a moment said, “I guess.” 

As the sun rose higher in the blue sky accompanied by large, puffy white clouds, the heat grew more intense and the humidity rose even faster. Bathed in sweat, the quartet marched along a barely discernible path through the thick underbrush and trees. Quinn was actually happy to be wearing a bikini because she was perspiring so much, but she worried about sunburn and all the makeup that would require to cover up. Her feet slid in her sandals and she expected to find blisters whenever the crew finally stopped walking and she got to take them off.

They walked through a forest that was run through with small streams of greenish water. Once, Amaury halted them as a small alligator made its lazy way across the path to splash into the channel on the other side. The underbrush eventually started to thin, and the trees got smaller and smaller, until it was clear they were in a “younger” part of the forest. 

The quartet stepped through a thicket of ferns and onto a “road.” Two broad, dusty tire ruts led off into the forest. “This here’s a logging road,” Amaury volunteered. “After World War II, this whole area was a big logging area. My granddaddy was a lumberjack.” A handful of spooked deer leapt into the forest as the people began following the old truck path.

Quinn figured this was the sort of rough road the van had been traveling on when Jeff flipped it. She couldn’t help noticing that the trees immediately surrounding the road were arranged in neat rows, and reasoned that they were the result of replanting to replenish the timber supply. As Amaury pushed the pace, they passed antelope, elk and many species of deer. Evidently, the new forest growth was a haven for all sorts of wildlife. But that would also mean predators, Quinn thought. 

After a while, when she and Alice nearly bumped into Alan, Quinn looked forward and noticed that Amaury had stopped and was looking up at the sun, shielding his eyes. “Time for a coffee break,” he pronounced.

“No! Not another!” Alan suddenly shouted as he rushed toward Amaury, inadvertently dragging Alice and Quinn behind him. “Not again! I won’t allow it!”

Amaury spun and backhanded Alan, then kicked the legs out from under him. “I don’t remember asking your permission for a goddamn thing,” Amaury spat and then kicked Alan in the ribs. He dragged the cursing Alan a few feet toward a sapling and tied the man’s arms behind his back around the young tree.

Amaury turned to Alice and Quinn, and began untying the rope binding the girls together. “Do you remember how we did the coffee break this morning, Alice?” The girl delivered a slight, silent nod. “And you remember why you have to do it correctly, right honey?”

“Because if I make it hurt, then my Daddy gets hurt,” she said in a flat, barely audible voice.

“Wait a minute, what the hell are you talking about?” Quinn demanded. Her question was met with an open-handed slap that staggered the celebrity. He made sure she stayed bound to Alan.

“This ain’t about you,” he snarled. “Not yet, anyway.”

Amaury led Alice away, and Quinn could not follow because she was still anchored to Alan. About 10 feet away from Quinn and Alan, Amaury stopped and leaned slightly back against a tree and unzipped his pants, then pulled out his cock.

“No! God damn you!” Alan screamed and strained at his bonds. “Don’t you touch her! Don’t you touch her!” He kicked and flailed his legs, promising to kill Amaury with his bare hands and cursing and hurling invectives more obscene than Quinn had ever heard from the crew on any movie set.

Quinn watched, horrified, as Alice reached out to take Amaury’s manhood in her small hands, and then tentatively began to lick the head of his cock. “Shit, no,” Quinn muttered as she watched the preteen struggle to get the man’s cockhead into her mouth. She could barely fit most of it so she drooled on it, then pulled it out and rubbed it, using her spit as lubricant.

Disgusted, Quinn looked away, her gaze falling on Alan, who had clenched his eyes shut in horror but continued to scream curses and threats at Amaury, his face beet-red. Quinn could see veins popping on his forehead and neck.

Meanwhile, Alice dutifully rubbed and stroked the man’s cock, occasionally licking and spitting on it when she couldn’t get it into her mouth. “Am I doing it right?” Alice asked. “Does that feel good?” Quinn now realized what had caused the dark stains on Alice’s bathing suit.

“Awwww, yes, baby girl, that feels so good,” Amaury groaned, in a voice that was very much louder than it had to be. “Jerk your new Daddy’s cock, baby,” he cooed, and delighted in watching Alan’s frustrated struggles. Quinn was unsure which Amaury enjoyed more – the hand job or Alan’s apoplexy.

Amaury put his hand on Alice’s head, grabbed a clump of her blonde hair and yanked. “Yes, yes, yes,” he moaned. “Faster, faster, faster!” as he stared down at the little girl. “Look at me honey,” he demanded. “Look into my eyes as I cum for you Alice!” Alice did as she was told, and locked eyes with the pervert. But she couldn’t help looking away as Amaury’s cock suddenly spurted thick clumps of sperm onto her chin and flat chest. The cum dribbled down to her belly, leaving a dark, wet trail. 

Alan’s string of expletives did not end with Amaury’s climax, so after he was finished cumming on the 11-year-old, Amaury strode over and backhanded Alan, slamming his head against the tree trunk. That silenced the aggrieved father.

Amaury brusquely dragged Alice back to Quinn and retied the girls. Then he released Alan, and the group resumed its trudge along the road, which became increasingly hard to follow. Alan stumbled his way along for about half an hour after getting his skull cracked, and Quinn was concerned he had a concussion and would pass out, but Alan kept it together. Quinn felt the sweat running between her breasts. Alan’s shirt was soaked completely through, and Alice’s one-piece was also wet with sweat. They were again laboring through dense stands of bushes, stubborn tall grass, ferns, mud and giant tree trunks. 

Until suddenly they weren’t.

Now facing the travelers was a prairie of sorts, with tall grass standing in about half a foot of water. Several startled pelicans took flight at the intrusion of the humans. Amaury plunged right in. “Keep an eye out for gators,” he warned. “They’re sneaky bastards.” Quinn and Alice held hands as they splashed into the grass river behind the men. The water lapped at Alice’s knees, which made her especially uncomfortable, and her head swiveled non-stop, watching her surroundings.

The sky was filled with circling hawks and osprey, hunting rats, mice, frogs – anything they could get in their talons.

As they reached the edge of this particular wetland, Quinn noticed several varieties of delicate orchids and other flowering plants in a myriad of vibrant colors. She grabbed a bright pink one and handed it to Alice. “I bet your favorite color is pink,” she suggested. Alice nodded in delight.

Back on solid ground, the group made better time than slogging through the water. Emerging from a thick stand of trees, they came upon an area clear-cut long ago by loggers, but not replanted. It looked like a grassland. Amaury stopped the party and pointed at a vast swath of dug-up, disturbed ground. The youngest tree saplings, the bushes and various other vegetation were uprooted and looked chewed to the nub. Whatever flora wasn’t torn from the ground was dead or dying.

“Hogs,” Amaury said with a devious smile. “Wild hogs. They’s relentless. Tear up the forest rootin’ around for food. They can destroy acres at a time.” He fixed Quinn with a threatening stare. “A young lady like you don’t want to run into no wild hogs out here on your lonesome. They’s merciless.” He punctuated his warning with a glance at her boobs and a wink that made Quinn shiver. She took a shuddering deep breath and crossed her arms under her breasts and looked around nervously.

They started walking again, and then the group was startled by a tremendous crashing noise behind them; it sounded like a herd of bulls coming through the forest. “Hogs?” Quinn gasped in terror, her fearful eyes filling with tears. “Oh, no!”

The bush parted and the perpetrators were revealed. “Armadillos,” Amaury laughed. “Damn, they make a helluva noise, don’t they?” Three of the armored, rounded beasts trotted on their way, paying no heed to the people. 

“Let’s go,” Amaury said, giving Quinn a playful spank on the butt that startled her. “We’re almost there, and the sun’s gettin’ low.”

“Almost where?” Quinn inquired.

“Almost home,” Amaury said, somehow making it sound ominous.


	5. The Cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaury leads his prisoners to his cabin, and the newcomers get a nasty taste of his grotesque indoctrination techniques.

To Quinn’s great consternation, the dense forest resumed – almost the worst they had passed through yet. But, finally, the thick stands of cypress trees opened into another clear area, and there Quinn saw a hunting camp. “Home, sweet home,” Amaury pronounced. “Be it ever so humble.” The perimeter of the clearing was guarded by tightly packed forest, with oak and cypress trees forming what Quinn feared was an impenetrable barrier.

To the left, Quinn could see a dark wooden wharf jutting out into the bayou. What looked to Quinn like cut-off telephone poles stood upright in the water, supporting the planks of the dock about two feet over the water. There was a small, open wooden boat and a fiberglass kayak tied up at the end. Across the inlet, Quinn could see a forest of mangrove trees with their characteristic tangled root systems rising exposed above the water level. A lone white heron cruised in the air. A sloping-roofed, open-sided boathouse met the wharf at the shoreline, its dilapidated wood blackened and dirty with age and disrepair. Several old tires were hung by ropes around the boathouse and lay discarded around it.

Straight ahead was Amaury’s home. A walkway of wooden planks led toward the wooden-framed shack, ultimately rising about six inches above the soggy ground before ending with three steps up to the side of a porch. The elevated walkway continued left toward the boathouse. The front porch was screened in, and a couple of old chairs stood next to small tables covered with fishing gear. Several fishing poles stood against the inner wall next to the front screen door that led to the dark interior. The cabin itself was set up off the ground on cinderblocks, probably to guard against flooding, Quinn surmised. The front yard was grass and small trees. Looking between the home and boathouse, there was a thicket of brush beyond, where Quinn could barely make out a tangle of chicken wire. On the other side of the house, a grove of tall oak trees practically sagging under the weight of Spanish moss came right up to the edge of the house. Quinn could discern some kind of metal glinting in the warm sunlight behind the wooden structure – maybe some corrugated aluminum as the roofing of an outbuilding?

To Quinn’s right, a row of three slope-roofed little sheds stood in a row. About five feet tall, they looked hastily slapped-together, as the wooden boards were not cleanly joined, but they did the job. The fronts of the sheds were open and covered with chain-link fencing. About two feet in front of the fencing of each shed were low wooden hitching posts.

The occupants of those sheds terrified Quinn: dogs. The first housed three Rottweilers, and the third held a number of bloodhounds. All of them were barking ferociously, spittle flying, pawing at the ground. She could hear heavy chains dragging across concrete. The middle enclosure appeared to be empty. Quinn’s knees weakened and she stumbled for a step or two, putting a hand on Alice’s shoulder for a moment before covering her ears and grimacing. “Can they smell me?” Quinn wondered. “Do they recognize a bitch?” She took several steps away from the kennels and closer to Alan, pulling Alice with her. As the approached the cabin, Quinn maintained a wary eye on the dogs and winced at the sound of their chains, fearful of hearing one snap. But all she heard was a vaguely mechanical sound, like an old engine running somewhere far off.

As Amaury guided them onto the porch Quinn looked back at the way they had come; it was hard to locate the point where they had emerged from the forest. A loud squawk drew her eyes up to the treetops, where she saw two black vultures hopping in the leaves atop a banyan tree. She tried hard not to see that as an omen.

It took Quinn’s eyes several long minutes of blinking and rubbing to adjust to the relative darkness inside the house. And when she was able to see clearly again, she doubted her sight. Surely this was a fever dream, or she was now blind and only imagining what she was seeing. 

She was looking at the furnished interior of a cabin. Not a dirt-floored hovel with a wood-burning stove and rickety chimney pipe. There was a solid-wood floor with a small area rug and furniture; finely crafted wooden furniture with pads for sitting on. The layout was pretty much one big room, with a small L-turn toward the back that led to two doors. Quinn hoped one of them led to a room with indoor plumbing. Near the turn was a simple bed with a green metal frame. The walls were painted and hung with framed photographs, mostly black-and-white images of people and animals. There was a solid-looking door at the rear of the room, and it had a padlock on it. Next to that was a kitchen with a stove, a sink and even a refrigerator.

“You have electricity?” Quinn asked, incredulous. “And a bathroom?”

“Course we do,” Amaury replied. “It’s the 21st century, ain’t it?” Quinn listened for a moment and could make out the gasoline-engine sound of a generator somewhere outside; that was the engine she had heard out by the canine enclosures.

“Welcome to your new home,” Amaury announced. “Bathroom is the unlocked door over there.”

“What the hell?” Alan demanded. “No fucking way! You’re letting my daughter and me go. And you’re doing it right now. Or I’m calling the police!”

Amaury punched Alan in the face with a roundhouse right that dropped the man onto the sofa behind him. “Stay right there!” Amaury warned the girls and then he disappeared around the corner. He returned carrying what looked like a black bowling ball that seemed rather heavy. He put it down and revealed it was attached to a thick chain, about two feet long, with a collar on the end. Amaury snapped it into place around Alan’s right ankle and locked it. Quinn couldn’t believe she was looking at an old-fashioned ball-and-chain, like in the old movies about chain gangs.

“Are you fucking serious?” Quinn demanded. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes I can... and I just did,” Amaury replied. He stepped around the corner again and returned with a much smaller ball and chain. “Put that on,” he ordered Quinn while pointing his gun at her. “Quinn stared daggers at the man as she clamped the cuff on her left ankle. She could move, but it was difficult. She would have to slouch down and carry the ball at about groin level because of the short chain. There was clearly no way she could take it out into the forest.

“You,” Amaury said, pointing at Alice, “I don’t have to chain you, I don’t think. Stepping outside this cabin is suicide. There ain’t another living soul within 20 miles, and every creature outside that door – from little bugs to gators to pumas – will kill you. Hell, take a wrong step and the damn ground will kill you. You won’t last 5 minutes alone; less than that at night.”

Alice sat heavily on the floor, staring at her father in concern. There was no hint of resistance in her eyes.

“You girls can cook?” Amaury asked.

Alice nodded, and Quinn half-shrugged saying, “Wellll...”

“Cook!” their captor barked, pointing a thumb at the kitchen. He produced a knife and separated them from Alan, who was still unconscious.

Later, it was dark outside and the buzzing and chirping of insect life was near deafening. After a dinner of fried corned-beef hash and poached eggs, the revived Alan was put in charge of cleaning up. Then he was released from his bonds to help Amaury pull a metal-framed bed and two mattresses into the main room from beyond the locked door next to the bathroom. The key was on Amaury’s heavy key ring in his pocket.

“That bed is for Quinn,” Amaury said, pointing at the newly arrived furniture. Seeing Alan scowl at her, Amaury told him, “She’ll be getting a lot more use out of it than you will.” He pointed at the mattress on the floor. “That’s for you, Alan.”

Alan, still frowning, plopped down on the mattress and held out his arms toward Alice, motioning to her with his fingers. She hopped on the mattress next to her father.

“Hold on, not so fast, little missy,” Amaury said. “You’ll be sleeping over here, in the big bed with me!”

“Like hell she will!” Alan shouted, standing up to face Amaury. “She’s had enough of your sick shit!”

Amaury raised his hand and swung at Alan again – but this time the furious father was ready for the blow and blocked it. He threw a punch of his own that caught Amaury on the side of the jaw.

From the mattress, Alice started screaming: “Daddy! Daddy! No! Daddy!” Quinn moved quickly to pluck the girl away from the fighting men.

But then a palm strike caught Alan under the chin and he went down, hard. As Alan spit out a tooth, Amaury grabbed Alice roughly by the arm. “No!” Alan screamed and tried to get back up. Then Amaury reached behind him, pulled out his gun and shot Alan.

“DADDY!” Alice screamed. Quinn gasped and covered her eyes as she dropped to her knees. But the bullet was not fatal. Alan had collapsed, holding both his hands on this left leg, just below the knee. Blood spurted from between his fingers and dripped on the wooden floor.

Amaury gestured toward Quinn with the gun. “Go get him a towel and wrap that up,” he said calmly. “There are bandages under the sink; aspirin in the cabinet above it.” Quinn sat stock still, her mouth hanging open. “Move it!” Amaury commanded with another wave of the gun. Quinn bent down and lugged her ball into the bathroom, which she was shocked to find relatively clean. It looked like any other bathroom, with white tile on the floor, a toilet, bathtub and sink. She saw the medicine cabinet. The towels did not appear to have been washed in weeks.

When she hobbled back with the supplies, Quinn saw that Alice was now sitting on Amaury’s knee and he was wiping her tears with a cloth. Alan was barely conscious, but he screwed up his face and hissed as Quinn rinsed off his wound and applied some salve she had found in the cabinet. Quinn looked back to see Amaury was now wiping the cloth on Alice’s chest. Then he put it down and started rub her chest with his hand until her young nipples became hard and bumped through the skintight swimsuit.

Alan saw this too. “God, no,” he moaned. “You can’t. Please don’t do this to her. She’s only 11 years old.”

Amaury snapped his head around toward Alan. “Do I have to put a bullet in your mouth to get you to close it?” he asked. “Do I?” Alan closed his eyes and rocked his head back. Quinn finished wrapping his wound. Luckily, the bullet had passed clear through his leg just below the joint, so she was able to clean and dress it pretty well, and no matter how poor her nursing skills, he would walk again someday.

By now, Amaury had the top of Alice’s bathing suit pulled down to expose her flat chest. He guided her as she stood up in front of him and he began to roll the rest of her bathing suit down. “Remember what happens if you don’t play nice?”

“Daddy gets hurt again,” Alice said with a sniffle. “Please don’t shoot my Daddy again, mister.”

“Mr. Bellamy,” Amaury said. “But you don’t have to be so formal. You can call me ‘Daddy Amaury.’ Would you like that?”

Alice shrugged her shoulders and Amaury continued to remove her swimsuit, eventually exposing her bald pubic area. Amaury pulled the suit down between her thin thighs and dropped it to the floor. With a lurid smile, he stared at the naked girl as she trembled before him. 

“Stop!”

This time it was Quinn. “You can’t do this to that little girl,” she said, sternly. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Amaury replied. “I have the gun, and you have a chain.”

“But her first time can’t be rape,” Quinn insisted. “It can’t.”

“Oh, how sentimental,” Amaury said with disgust. 

“Take me instead!” Quinn blurted out.

“What was that?” Amaury asked. “What did you just say?”

“What did that I just say?” she asked herself. Quinn had shocked herself into silence. “Am I really volunteering to be raped in place of someone else?” 

“Why should I pass up this fresh meat for you?” Amaury demanded.

“Hey, I’m not chopped liver,” Quinn protested. “I’m not that old! And look, I’ve actually got tits!” She pulled the gold triangles of her bikini top to the sides, exposing her nipples, which were erect like pencil erasers. She could tell she had Amaury’s attention.

“C’mon, lover, you want a real woman, don’t you?” Quinn suggested. “You want somebody who knows what she’s doing, not some crap virgin who’s going to cry and struggle and fight with you. Do you want her screaming and biting the whole time, or do you want me moaning under you and fucking you back?”

Amaury’s gaze seemed a little glazed now, as if he was imagining that very thing. Almost without thought he released his grip on Alice, who ran straight to her father and jumped on him, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso in a death grip.

“All right, little lady, you convinced me,” Amaury said, somewhat suspiciously. “But you better be worth it. I’m passing up a tight little virgin pussy to get with you.”

“You won’t regret it, big guy,” she replied. “I promise you.”

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Amaury demanded. “Git naked!”

Quinn lowered her eyes as she unclasped her top behind her back and shook it off her arms, dropping it on the chair beside the bed. Then she squeezed the black-striped white bikini bottoms down her bronzed legs. She had trouble getting it along the chain and over the ball, but she accomplished the feat. Standing in the dim light, Quinn could see Alan was looking at her naked body. She expected a little more respect from him, considering what she was doing for his daughter. Perv. She covered her breasts with one arm and her neatly trimmed bush with her other hand.

“C’mere, sweet thang,” Amaury said, extending a hand to invite her into his bed. Quinn accepted and kneeled on the mattress, then lay down on her side. Amaury’s hand stroked her face.

“Hello, little girl,” he asked her. “How old are you, sweetie?”

“Twenty-t –” but he cut her off.

“No, you’re not. You’re 11 years old,” he scolded her. “You’re 11 and you’re my little princess.”

The sharp look in his eye told Quinn not to contest this. “I’m 11,” she said, pronouncing it with a hitch in her voice as her stomach churned. “I’m 11 years old and I’m your little princess.”

“That’s my baby girl,” Amaury smiled as he forced Quinn to lie flat on her back. As Amaury climbed on top of her, Quinn was overcome by his body odor. His rough, calloused hands fumbled and hurt as he guided his cock to her pussy. His member felt large as he pushed clumsily inside her.

“Huurrrrm, urrrrrmmmmm,” he groaned as he moved awkwardly in her and squeezed her breasts painfully. The face she once thought might have belonged to a kind man was now just a ghastly mask, even without the bruises from fighting Alan. 

“Ow! Fuck, you’re hurting me!” Quinn protested, but he ignored her and gnawed on her neck as his sweaty, hairy body rubbed against her smooth form. Then he froze in place, and Quinn shivered at the revolting sensation of her rapist cumming inside her. 

At least it was over quickly.

Amaury rolled off his victim and heaved a long sigh. Then he slapped Quinn on the hip. “Go wan, little girl, git!” he shouted. “Outta my bed! I don’t want your damn pussy leakin’ all over and makin’ everything wet.”

Quinn gathered up her bikini and ball-and-chain, and then retreated to the bathroom. After cleaning herself up as best she could, Quinn rinsed out her bikini and hung it to dry.

Quinn crawled, naked, into her bed and lay atop the sheets. Sweaty and uncomfortable, she could not calm her mind, which kept returning over and over to Amaury’s bruised face grunting and slobbering as he rutted on top of her – and his sick smile as he filled her with his filthy jizz. Quinn was surprised she could still weep, but tears did roll down the sides of her face. She stared at the wooden ceiling, wishing it would crash down and crush her to death right now.

Then Quinn felt a weight at the foot of her bed. It was Alice. The naked child crawled up Quinn’s legs and nestled herself next to her savior, burying her head against Quinn’s torso and wrapping her legs around Quinn’s left thigh, holding on tightly. Quinn could feel the tension in all the girl’s muscles; tension that remained even after Alice closed her eyes and her breathing slowed. Then, a few minutes later, Quinn felt those tense muscles release and grow limp as Alice finally entered a deep and relaxed sleep.

Before too long Quinn dozed, but it was troubled, uneasy sleep filled with monsters.


	6. The Bargaining Chip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaury makes a big move that shakes up the status quo, and Quinn begins to get an inkling of what kind of trouble she's in...

Quinn Kane was awakened by the sound of Alice squealing. The startled woman bolted upright to see that the child was no longer in her bed. At a second girlish shout, Quinn leapt naked off the mattress – and tumbled to the floor, as her left ankle was gripped by the chained ball on the floor beside her.

Looking around, she saw the house was empty. All the windows were open and Quinn wondered if the home had air-conditioning. Alice screamed again. Quinn squatted and lifted the heavy iron ball, carrying it to the open window through which the shouts seemed to issue. The window faced the wharf, and Quinn was relieved at what she saw: Alice splashing playfully in the water, wearing her blue bathing suit again. Alan was picking her up and tossing her high off the dock, and the girl was squealing with glee before hitting the water. Then she climbed up a wooden ladder. “Again, Daddy, again!” she called.

So where was their jailer, Amaury? Quinn pressed her nose against the metal screen as she searched the yard. She could feel the warm, humid air on her cheeks. There he was, back beyond the boathouse, near the low chicken-wire fence – what was that about? – walking in small circles, smoking a cigarette and talking on a cell phone. She could hear his voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Wait, talking on a cell? Quinn hobbled back to her bed and found her backpack underneath it. She ripped open the zipper and pulled out Maggie’s cell phone.

Dead.

Quinn slumped against the bedpost and dropped the phone back in the bag. Then it occurred to her: If Maggie kept her phone in her backpack, wouldn’t she also have a way to charge it in there somewhere? There was nothing in the main zippered area, but... There, in one of the side pockets, was a charging cord with a wall-plug adaptor. Quinn sighed in relief and looked under the bed. There was an electrical outlet; this was definitely her day, her Quinn thought. She connected the phone and plugged it in; it started charging. She pushed the phone far underneath her skeletal bed, close to the wall. She carefully placed the backpack over it, trying to make the placement look casual. As long as Amaury wasn’t specifically looking for a phone charging in the wall, he most likely wouldn’t see it.

Quinn returned to the window. Several large insects buzzed past, inches from her nose. Alan was now swimming with Alice. Weren’t they afraid of alligators? Amaury was still on the phone. Quinn could hear his voice rising a bit along with certain choice words – “Fuck,” “goddamnit,” and “fuckin’ fuck” – being among the most common, but she was also sure she heard the piercing “V” sound of “virgin,” which made Quinn immediately look over at Alice. When she looked back, Amaury was flicking his cigarette into the pool of water beyond the chicken wire and approaching the house. Quinn’s eyes bulged and she immediately raced back to her bed, dropping the ball and diving onto the mattress on her belly. She pretended to still be asleep.

Amaury came inside and stopped at Quinn’s bed, looking at her. He started unbuckling his pants and slapped Quinn’s naked round ass. “Wake up, honey! Daddy Amaury needs some release!” He grabbed Quinn by the ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed. 

“No! Stop!” Quinn shouted as she tried to kick her legs, but of course her left leg was frozen by the chain. Amaury made Quinn bend at the waist over the edge of the bed with her knees on the floor. He knelt beside her and pulled out his cock. “Stop it, I don’t want to!” she squealed.

“Fuck that!” Amaury shouted as he slotted his cockhead at her pussy lips and grabbed Quinn’s hair. “I been watchin’ that little bitch and her father all morning! I need me some relief!” He forced his cock into Quinn, and she cried out.

Quinn struggled, but Amaury held her by the hair, yanking her neck backward painfully. He pistoned into her fast, hard and clumsily, his breathing ragged and deep. He released his grip on her head as he started to cum, and Quinn buried her face in the sheets, not wanting him to see her face. 

He pulled out and slapped Quinn’s butt as he stood up and wordlessly walked away. Quinn heard the bathroom door slam. She dropped on her haunches beside the bed, feeling the man’s jizz leak out of her, until Alice and Alan returned, giggling, dripping wet and wrapped in towels. Quinn climbed into the bed and wrapped a sheet around her hips as Alice briefly looked at her, confused. Alan’s gaze lingered on Quinn’s bare breasts; she cocked an angry eyebrow at him and he looked away, ashamed.

“Hey, Quinn, you want to go swimming?” Alice asked, cheerfully.

“Maybe later, honey,” Quinn replied as she flopped backward onto the mattress.

After Amaury vacated the bathroom, Quinn went inside and took a long, hot shower before redressing in the bikini that was half hers and half Maggie’s. She found a rubber band in the medicine cabinet and used it to tie her hair up, off her neck.

When she emerged from the steamy room, Quinn saw (and smelled) that Alice had cooked a breakfast of fried eggs and toast, and Quinn was grateful to discover Amaury had orange juice in the fridge. Quinn ate without speaking to anyone and without even looking at Amaury, while Alice babbled brightly and non-stop about swimming and all the fish she saw in the water.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Amaury mumbled. Alice looked at him, confused, and Alan fixed him with one of his patented glare.

“He probably just means the fish don’t stick around, honey,” Alan suggested. “You know, they’re always swimming around, because they’re fish, y’know?” Alice seemed satisfied by that explanation and returned to her toast. But Quinn quietly wondered what he’d meant.

Quinn volunteered to clean up, and the other three headed back out into the humid air of the yard. It wasn’t long before she heard Alice plunge into the water with a shout. Quinn made quick work of the dishes and turned her attention to the locked door that stood menacingly between the refrigerator and the far wall. Now that she was close to it, she could see it was actually a heavy metal door, painted the same dull, pale green as the rest of the walls in the house. It had a brushed silver lever handle with a keyhole beneath, as well as a deadlock above and, for good measure, a strong padlock above that. Quinn peered into crevasse where the door met the frame (also metal), but the seal was tight. She couldn’t hear anything from beyond it, either.

What Quinn did hear was Amaury coming back inside. He opened the front screen door and stopped short when he saw her. “What the hell?” the frowned. 

“No!” Quinn stammered. “I didn’t; I couldn’t!”

Amaury approached her, then opened one of the lower drawers in the cabinet and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Before Quinn knew what was happening, he had her wrists secured in front of her. She reflexively bent down and tried to curl up, but then suddenly her vision was blocked as she felt Amaury slip a burlap bag over her head. He pulled a string around her neck taut. Quinn panicked and stood up straight, whipping her head back. Then she felt Amaury punch her in the stomach. All the wind was knocked out of her lungs and she dropped to the floor. She tried desperately to suck in air, but her mouth was blocked by burlap. Tears were squeezed out of her eyes as the blood roared in her ears. She thought it was the end. And for her, it was – as everything went quiet and black.

[Discontinuity]

Amaury stood on the porch, soaking in the slight cool breeze off the water when he heard the sound of a powerful V-8 engine. Alan and Alice, who had been sitting on the dock with their feet dangling in the water, heard it, too. They looked toward the house, but didn’t move.

At the edge of the homestead clearing, not far from the waterline, a large truck rolled into view. It was a black Dodge Ram 3500 with lots of chrome embellishments, a light bar and blacked-out windows. The truck was pulling a Jayco Eagle 325BHS camper, and drove to the middle of the clearing. There were a number of wire dog cages in the cargo area, with barking, howling animals inside, and a teenage boy, about 16, with red hair riding next to them. A man well over six feet tall and almost as wide stepped out on the driver’s side. He was wearing brown cargo shorts, combat boots and a camo T-shirt with a brown vest.

“Jean-Claude, mon ami,” Amaury greeted the balding, red-haired newcomer in French. “Ça va?”

“Ça va,” Jean-Claude replied, and they embraced. Amaury was a good head shorter and 130 pounds lighter than his burly friend. Amaury waved at the boy, who remained in the truck bed. “Philippe.”

A dark-haired woman climbed out of the passenger seat. She was petite, svelte and about 20 years younger than Jean-Claude. “Amaury, meet the new wife,” he said, “Melanie.”

Amaury tipped his red baseball cap. “You and the missus want to come inside, have a brew?”

“So, I believe you have something for me,” Jean-Claude declared, shaking his head. “You know me; I like to get right to business.”

“I do know that, J.C.,” Amaury replied, turning toward the dock and whistling to Alan and Alice; he waved them over. Alice sprinted, leaving Alan to hobble behind with his ball and chain.

“Well, well, she ain’t even in club colors,” Jean-Claude said, smiling as Alice approached. “Blue is Buford’s thing.”

“I know that,” Amaury assured his friend. “I told ya she was new. She’s fresh as the morning dew, that’s what I say. Ripe and fresh.”

Jean-Claude eyed Amaury with friendly skepticism and cocked his head at Melanie. As she approached, Amaury took hold of Alice’s wrists. “Hey! What?” Alice protested as Melanie kneeled down and pulled at the crotch of Alice’s blue swimsuit. She tugged the fabric aside and pushed two fingers into the little girl. 

“Hey! What the hell’s going on?” Alan shouted as he approached. “Get away from her! Let her go!”

Ignoring the shouting father, Melanie pulled her fingers out, released Alice’s swimsuit and returned to stand by her husband. “Yep, she’s unsullied,” she said in raspy, cigarette-burned voice.

“Well, I gotta hand it to you, Amaury, finding a healthy white virgin at optimal training age at this time of year ain’t nothing,” Jean-Claude declared, beaming. “You, Mr. Bellamy, have got yourself a deal.” Melanie had gone back to the truck and returned holding a small bundle of black fabric and a clipboard with papers and a pen on it.

“Not so fast, mon ami,” Amaury protested. “I get to inspect my incoming merchandise, as well.”

“What merchandise?” Alan demanded. “What’s going on here?”

“I told you to shut it!” Amaury scolded him.

“I will not shut it! I want to know what’s happening here. Why is my daughter here?” Alan was livid again – but he abruptly shut up when he was knocked on the back of the head by a dark-haired young man in a red shirt and dingy denim overalls who was holding a rock in one hand and a backpack in the other.

“Thank you, Remy,” Amaury said with a nod. “Now go help Philippe with the dog crates.”

Remy nodded acknowledgement, handed Amaury the pack, then trotted toward the truck.

Jean-Claude sighed and waved at the camper. The door opened, and two attractive young women emerged, wearing cowboy boots and lacy black teddy lingerie that contrasted sharply with their bone-pale skin. They both appeared to be in their early 20s and their hair was either dyed platinum or they were both wearing wigs. They approached Jean-Claude and Amaury, but stopped about 10 feet away and cast their eyes down at the ground and clasped their hands behind them.

“Amaury, meet Claire and Fleur” – as he named each girl, she briefly looked up and acknowledged her name before returning her gaze to the ground. “Course, you can name them anything you want,” he added. Amaury smiled and approached to look them over. Both appeared to be model-beautiful, with Claire having the more athletic build. Everything about these girls was long, lean, round and pert; absolutely nothing sagged.

Next to the truck, Remy and Philippe finished unloading three cages. Each cage contained one dog: a Golden retriever, a grey-and-white Akita, and a white-and-brown American bulldog.

“They’s all good, Papa,” Remy declared.

Amaury nodded. “Same here,” he said, smiling at Fleur, who peeked at him and then smiled at the ground.

Amaury turned to Melanie and took the clipboard from her. “One 11-year-old Caucasian virgin,” Amaury read off the papers, “in trade for one 20-year-old unbred Caucasian female; one 23-year-old unbred Caucasian female; one 60-pound male Golden Retriever; one 67-pound male Akita; and one 96-pound male American bulldog – all experienced studs. Yep, looks about right.”

“You’re getting a helluva deal, Amaury,” Jean-Claude chuckled, pointing at Fleur. “That one’s got a tongue that’ll melt the devil’s ball sack.”

“And you’re getting a blonde virgin the devil would cut off his own tail to get to fuck, so I’d call it a fair deal,” Amaury countered. He signed his name; Jean-Claude did the same; and then the men shook hands. “Remy,” Amaury called. “You and Philippe take the dogs over to the kennels.”

“Girls,” Jean-Claude said, motioning to Claire and Fleur. Along with Melanie, they grabbed Alice, who screamed as the women stripped off her bathing suit and tossed it aside.

“No! Daddy, help! Daddy, please!” she squealed and kicked her legs. But Alan was unconscious on the grass. Claire grabbed her around the waist and lifted Alice off the ground as Melanie unrolled the black fabric: It was a tank top and black panties, which the women forced the girl to don.

“We’ll get you some boots in your size when we get back to the homestead,” Melanie assured the crying girl. Melanie then dragged Alice, who was near-hysterical calling for her father, into the camper and closed the door.

“You want the Daddy, I’ll throw him in, cheap,” Amaury said. “Name’s Alan and he’s good breeding stock; he produced that ‘delicate’ little hellcat.”

Jean-Claude shook his head. “Don’t need him. Got plenty of breeders,” he added, nodding toward Philippe, who was returning to the truck. “His time’s come, too.”

Fleur and Claire had started to undress and stood naked and barefoot before the men. Amaury reached into the pack and pulled out two sets of clothing: red silk boy-cut panties and red bandeau bras, which the girls quickly put on while Jean-Claude gathered up their discarded black kits.

Amaury directed the girls to the house and then parted ways with Jean-Claude, shaking hands vigorously and hugging and back-patting. “Seeya at the flea market,” Amaury promised. 

As Amaury approached the girls who waited outside the porch, he told Remy to haul Alan to the boathouse and truss him up, telling the twentysomething, “We’ll have to figure out what to do with him later.”

[Discontinuity]

Cool air surrounded Quinn’s face and flooded her aching lungs as the burlap bag was pulled off her head. Sweat had matted her hair to her face, and someone brushed it away for her. Quinn blinked in the face of bright white light, and tried to orient herself. Was she dead? Was this hell? No, she wasn’t dead. She was sitting in a chair, but it felt unusual – the seat seemed to be U-shaped; was it a toilet seat? That would be good, because she had to go. No, not a toilet. Looking down, her wrists were bound to the arms of a metal chair. She could feel her ankles were clamped to the chair legs. She still felt a little woozy as her head lolled on her shoulders. Then she saw two ghostly faces in front of her, and was certain that she was dead.

“I’m Claire,” said the first face, pale and framed by platinum, shoulder-length hair.

“I’m Fleur,” said the second, whose longer white hair was tied up in high twin pigtails, like a Japanese schoolgirl’s locks.

“What? Who?” Quinn mumbled – but her questions were forgotten when she experienced a sudden cold sensation in her crotch. Something thick and pasty was being rubbed on her pubic mound and over her labia. She looked down to see Fleur, wearing red underwear, smear what felt like the same substance on each of her nipples. Then Quinn caught a whiff of it: peanut butter.

“What the fuck?” Quinn shouted.

“Exactly,” Fleur replied with a chuckle.

Claire suddenly leaned in and kissed Quinn hard on the mouth, and then dragged her nose across Quinn’s left cheek to her ear, where she whispered: “I know who you are. I know who Quinn Kane is,” before backing off with a cryptic smile.

Quinn shook her head as she got a look at her surroundings. She was completely nude, bound to a metal chair resting on top of some kind of white vinyl material in the middle of a room with linoleum flooring. Blinding arrays of powerful lights were focused on her from several directions, and what Quinn instantly recognized as two studio-quality digital cameras sat on tripods facing her. Microphones were suspended from the ceiling. She instantly felt like she was on a movie set.

“Oh, shit... I am on a movie set,” she sighed. “With peanut butter on my pussy and tits.”

Remy entered and went straight to the cameras, turning them on, checking their functions and smiling at Claire and Fleur. “Perfect, girls,” he said, and they smiled. Then Remy sat at a table off to the side. The whole length of the long table was covered in electronics, cables, blinking lights and laptop computers.

Then the door opened again, and Amaury came in, struggling to hold a large Golden retriever on a heavy leash. The dog snarled and bared his teeth and barked loudly at Quinn. He’d caught the scent of the peanut butter and recognized it – but clearly he also detected fear.

At the sight of the raging, barely controllable dog, Quinn lost control of herself and urinated on the floor.

“No,” Quinn squeaked.

Amaury reached down and, as he unhooked the dog’s leash, calmly called, “Action.”


	7. A Doggie Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn learns lessons in filmmaking and the care and feeding of exotic pets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the cruel, violent death of a minor character

The dog raced at Quinn with a growl and immediately set to work licking the peanut butter smeared on her pussy. Quinn desperately squirmed and tried to free herself from her restraints, but her legs were held firm by the black rope around her ankles, so the most she could do was try to brush the animal aside with a knee.

“No!” Quinn cried with tears flowing down her cheeks as she flailed her elbows haplessly. The dog was almost the same size as she. “You can’t do this to me! Not again! Not again, please!” Quinn wailed, her bare feet slapping in place on the floor. 

Fleur and Claire looked at each other, confused by Quinn’s protests. “I thought Amaury said he didn’t do nothin’ with dogs and her yet?” Claire whispered, drawing a shrug from Fleur.

As the Golden retriever lapped eagerly at Quinn’s treat-coated labia, she closed her eyes and raised her face toward the ceiling. “God, no, not again! I can’t take it! I’m not an animal!”

The yellow-furred dog suddenly broke off its tonguing to sniff along Quinn’s thigh and then up and down her left leg. The dog huffed once, shook his head and then started circling the chair, sniffing the ground as if he had lost interest in the chair’s pinned occupant and his treat.

“Damn it, Midas, I said ‘Eat’!” Amaury protested and walked as close to the girl and the dog as he could without stepping into the camera shot. “Midas! Heel!” The dog then rushed to Amaury and circled him before sitting. 

“Still filming,” Remy said in a voice that part annoyed and part concerned.

Amaury sighed and looked at Claire and Fleur, who were standing back from the action, holding hands. “I thought Jean-Claude said this dog was fully trained,” he hissed at them.

“Well, he is,” Fleur replied. “But, I guess, maybe he’s kinda trained... like, maybe to us?”

“Yeah, we did all the work with Midas,” Claire backed up her friend. “Which wasn’t a whole lot. Maybe he’s just a little confused?”

Amaury tugged roughly at Midas’ collar. “Pussy is pussy, you dumb sumbitch!” he shouted at the dog. “And even if it smells different, the damn peanut butter is the same!”

As Amaury tugged on the collar again, trying to drag the balking dog toward Quinn, Fleur suddenly rushed over and began stroking Midas’ head and scratching his ears and under his throat.

“Where’s my good boy?” she cooed softly to the dog. “Where’s mommy’s good little boy?” She continued to rub and scratch under the dog’s throat and speak in a soft tone; he closed his eyes in an apparent pleasure reaction. “Who’s hungry?” Fleur asked him. “Who’s a hungry boy? Who wants peanut butter?”

Midas’ ears pricked up and he suddenly seemed to come alive. He stood, allowing Fleur to gently guide him back to Quinn. As the dog and his new handler approached, Quinn shook her head. “No, please... F-Fleur, don’t bring him back.”

Then Midas broke from Fleur’s guiding hand and leaped onto the chair-bound Quinn, slobbering over the peanut butter on her breasts. As he licked with his soft tongue, Quinn screamed and begged him to stop, her head shaking from side-to-side.

Midas climbed down off her and began to repeat his circling of the chair, but then abruptly returned to licking the peanut butter from her pussy. Fleur motioned to Claire, who brought the jar of peanut butter and together the girls scooped out more with their fingers and applied it to Quinn’s sensitive places. And then Claire daubed a finger on the end of Quinn’s nose. “That’s special for you, Miss Kane,” she whispered. Quinn tried not to react, but she was already at loose ends, and feared that she betrayed herself by confirming her identity with shock.

As Claire and Fleur retreated, Midas really went to work on Quinn, whose body was now totally pumped with adrenalin and reacting to the fear and sexual stimulation of the canine assault. Her nipples were turgid and her pussy was swelling with heat under Midas’ surprisingly tender and extremely stimulating ministrations. His tongue was so soft; nothing like the sandpaper of a cat’s. Quinn realized she’d never had her pussy eaten so eagerly in her entire life – and it was having an effect on her. She wriggled her butt in the strange chair with the U-shaped seat that left her underside fully exposed, recalling the shame of orgasming so many times while being raped by the wild dogs in the alley. Her face was red with fiery shame. At least that’s what she told herself; she wasn’t even going to consider the possibility that she was in the throes of passion. She couldn’t be – not with a dog, and especially not with cameras pointed at her!

And then it happened: the hot sparks and swirling, fiery tidal wave of pleasure that welled uncontrollably from deep inside. Quinn’s head dropped backward as if her neck were broken and she let out a strangely cat-like cry of pleasure as her fists and toes curled. Fleur smiled knowing. When Quinn could think again, she just panted, “No, no, no, no,” over and over.

Midas seemed unperturbed by Quinn’s huge, loud reaction. In fact, he then settled into a routine of lapping away at her sex, then breaking off and circling her – sniffing the floor, the chair legs and the girl’s legs, and then returning to his peanut butter. As time went on, either Claire or Fleur would replenish the supply of tasty, sticky paste on the helpless girl and quickly retreat out of shot. Quinn, too, developed a routine: protesting and crying, then climaxing and shrieking, then enduring another toe-curling build-up of Midas’ steady, relentless attention.

Remy watched the monitors and the camera feeds from his station at the tables with the laptops, and he was nursing a serious tent in his pants. He could barely take his eyes off Quinn as she cycled through orgasm after orgasm. Her mewling and pleading was turning him on like no other video subject ever had. On the few occasions when he could tear his eyes off the raven-haired girl, he looked at Claire and Fleur, who made no attempt to hide how turned on they were. Each had one hand down her red underwear and with the other held the other girl’s hand. Fleur was practically crouching from grinding and twisting her knees and thighs together, while Claire was alternately pressing her thighs together and spreading them apart. Remy locked eyes with Claire, who shook her head infinitesimally and silently mouthed the word “later” at him.

Despite the coolness of the air-conditioned room, Quinn was bathed in sweat and her modest breasts heaved with the exertion of breathing even when the huge dog wasn’t leaning on her chest, stimulating her nipples as he ate. 

Quinn had lost count of how many climaxes she experienced, but she knew it was more than she had with the wild dogs. But she was careful not to forget her humiliations. She weakly raised her head and stared into the lens of one of the cameras, peering through the long, dark hair that was plastered to her face with sweat. She knew she was being recorded, and that her shame would never be private. Her debasement would no doubt live forever after on the internet. Her pussy spasmed at the thought and betrayed her again! Quinn clenched her eyes shut and fought the endless waves of pleasure with thoughts of embarrassment and horror and how she’d never be a legitimate actress again. Her family would disown her. She had ruined her career – hell, her entire life – with the impetuous act of leaving her hotel that night.

Through it all, Amaury watched silently, nodding his approval to Remy or Fleur and Claire every so often, and muttering under his breath how Midas was doing a great job. He now believed what Jean-Claude had told him: Midas was trained to only eat pussy, no matter how hard his cock got. Amaury watched the dog’s long, red cock spray Quinn’s legs and feet with a seemingly endless supply of precum. Yes, Midas was a champion! Midas was a good boy. 

Watching the action like a fan, Amaury was suddenly very aware of the erection in his unwashed jeans. “All right, let’s call that a wrap for today,” he announced. “Outstanding first day, everyone. Especially you, Midas.”

Fleur took the heavy leash from Amaury’s hand and clicked it onto Midas’ collar. She didn’t want Amaury dragging the dog off Quinn by his neck. Instead, she spoke gently to the animal and stroked his head and neck as she guided him off his victim. But then Amaury brusquely grabbed the leash and led the animal out of the room through the same door he had entered.

Claire, meanwhile, helped Remy untie Quinn. She was limp as a marionette with its strings severed. Her body glowed with sweat and slobber and precum under the studio lights. When she was released, Quinn didn’t even move; she just lay on the chair, her head lolled on her right shoulder. The heavy black eye makeup and bright red lipstick that Quinn didn’t know the girls had applied was streaked and melting off her face. Claire dragged some sweat-matted hair off the “star’s” face and smiled sweetly at her. 

“It’s not my fault, hon,”Claire said. “We’re all just chew-toys here.” Then she kissed Quinn, and the new star felt something pushed into her mouth... but not a tongue. Claire pulled back and smiled.

And then the burlap bag went over Quinn’s head again, and Remy cinched it around her throat. Quinn wished he would keep pulling on it and make it tighter and tighter and tighter. It wasn’t long until she was unconscious again. Remy picked up Quinn like a sack of flour and tossed her over his shoulder. He patted her pert ass and said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[Discontinuity]

Quinn looked up to see Claire’s face close to hers. The platinum-haired girl was saying something, but it sounded wrong; all Quinn could discern was an echo and something like the sound of rushing water. She felt Claire’s hands all over her body, and she also felt water. Hot water. She was sitting on a hard surface and water was pooling around her butt. The floor of a shower. She felt the softness of a washcloth being rubbed on her face and neck.

[Discontinuity]

Quinn opened her eyes again to see a steady stream of water pouring onto her chest. She was still in a shower stall, and it was loud. Loud with voices. She looked around and feebly noticed Claire again... but now Remy was there, and Claire was on her knees in front of him with his cock in her mouth. He had his hands in her hair, and he was thrusting into her face as she made gurgling sounds and slapped at his thighs and tried to pull back. Naked, Remy looked chiseled from stone, with cut abs and defined muscles that were previously hidden under his clothing. And his cock was long. Despite his hot bod, Quinn shut her eyes in disgust, and when she reopened them Claire was in front of her again, smiling with her lips clenched tight. She moved closer and kissed Quinn on the mouth, forcing her tongue into Quinn’s mouth. Quinn responded by opening her mouth, and Claire spit a huge glob of Remy’s cum into Quinn’s mouth. Quinn gagged and spit it out, flailing her arms blindly to fend off any further advances.

[Discontinuity]

This time, when Quinn opened her eyes she saw Fleur, and felt the woman’s light hands on her breasts and thighs. Quinn looked down to see Fleur dressing her in lingerie identical to what she and Claire had been wearing: red-lace boy-cut shorts and a twisted bandeau bra. She looked super-cute and sexy in them, she thought, stupidly. Quinn looked into Fleur’s eyes, and thought she heard the woman say “Sorry,” in a deep, resounding voice.

[Discontinuity] 

Quinn wasn’t sure what had startled her awake, but she took stock of where she was: naked in a soft bed, spooning Fleur and being spooned by Claire. Looking around, she realized she was back in “her” bed in Amaury’s house. But there was no ball-and-chain on her leg now. 

Whatever had awakened Quinn had also roused the other two women, who looked around confused.

“Did you hear that?” Fleur asked.

“I don’t know,” Claire replied, “but I heard something.”

Quinn looked around. “There’s obviously nothing in here,” she said, “so it must be outside.”

The women crawled out of bed, and Quinn followed the lead of the others and dressed in her new skimpy red underwear. Although the bra and knickers fit her perfectly and consisted of slightly more material than the bikini she arrived wearing, Quinn still couldn’t help feeling more exposed wearing this uniform.

“By the way,” Quinn offered as she was getting dressed. “Where did you two come from? Before the... um, filming, I’d never seen either of you before. Why do you both have platinum hair? And why do we suddenly get matching... uh, outfits to wear?”

Fleur and Claire looked at each other. “We’re the new blood,” Claire said. “Not to say you’re old blood. From what we’ve been told, you’ve only been here a few weeks.”

"Weeks?" Quinn thought to herself. "Weeks? I was thinking it’s been days. What the hell is going on here?"

“And,” Fleur added, “think of the outfits as team colors; like a uniform.”

“Why should I think that way? What does it mean?” Quinn countered. 

“Gawd, she is a n00b,” Claire sighed, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Wait, don’t we get shoes?” Quinn asked.

Claire looked down at her own bare feet. “Apparently not,” she shrugged as she stood and started for the door. “But don’t worry, you have pretty toes.”

Now it was Quinn’s turn to roll her eyes. “They won’t stay that way running around barefoot in a swamp,” she countered.

Together, the three went to the front door and cautiously stepped outside. The sun was high in the sky, so Quinn wondered if it was the morning after her video ordeal or some days later. And again she pondered how long she’s been gone from the film set. If she really has been here for weeks, then surely she’s been fired off the movie. And surely she must have been reported missing. Someone has to be looking for her by now, right? Doesn’t a missing person get national news attention if she’s a pretty girl? But would anyone think to look for her in the depths of the Everglades?

There was nothing going on in the front yard. As the trio rounded the corner toward the small wharf, they ran into Remy coming the opposite way.

“Oh, mes cheres, I was just coming to get you,” he said with a grin as he checked out their undies. “Amaury has... something he wants you to see.” He turned around and the girls followed him.

They passed the boathouse on the left and headed for the rear yard, which opened up into a clearing larger than the front, but still choked with high grass and tree stumps. There was a featureless wooden building that extended about 10 feet from the main house, and Quinn realized that must be where the padlocked door next to the refrigerator leads. And beyond that was a taller outbuilding made of corrugated aluminum. Quinn could now see that the chicken wire she had glimpsed from a distance formed a semicircular ring around a patch of bare dirt and muddy shore, and extended into the water for some distance before sinking away. There was a table-like tree stump crisscrossed by tiny lines and stained some dark color in front of the wire fence. 

Emerging from beyond the wooden building came Amaury, pulling along a struggling Alan, who had an open cut on his forehead, and blood dripping onto his face. His T-shirt was torn and dirty, like his swim trunks. His wrists were tied in front of him and attached to a rope that Amaury held. Alan looked like he had spent a week outdoors. He fixed Quinn with an angry glare that confused her for a second – until she realized how she must look to him: clean and well-kept, like she’d been pampered. If only he could have seen her yesterday – or whenever that filming had taken place. She briefly wondered if he had been subjected to similar treatment, but decided that his eyes didn’t look haunted enough to have gone through such an ordeal.

“This is for all of you, but especially Quinn,” Amaury said in a loud, commanding voice. “It’s a refresher for you other two.”

Quinn had lost sight of Remy during all this, and she suddenly noticed him behind Alan. Remy kicked him behind the knee, dropping Alan near the stump. Amaury yanked on the rope and pulled Alan’s wrists across the flat top of the stump. In a flash there was a glint of metal, a hiss of air, a wet sound and a solid thump; Alan was screaming. He fell to his side on the ground – both of his hands gone at the wrists. He curled into a fetal ball, trying to stop the bleeding and the pain. Remy had chopped off Alan’s hands with a machete, which was now dug into the stump top and awash with blood. The other man’s hands dangled from the end of Amaury’s rope.

The women screamed, and Quinn felt like she was going to puke. She doubled over and fought to keep control as Claire and Fleur clasped hands and closed their eyes.

“Don’t worry, ladies, you’re not going to be disfigured,” Amaury said in a calm voice as he struggled to disentangle the disembodied hands from their bindings. “This is all just to illustrate what awaits you if you do not cooperate for any reason, or if you were to get an idea about running away or trying to signal someone for help in any way.” He casually tossed Alan’s left hand over his shoulder into the water beyond the fence. It made a strange plopping sound and then bobbed on the surface. The right hand quickly followed, dripping blood that flowed and curled in the water.

“I didn’t do anything,” Alan gasped between tears. “You took my daughter. Where is she?” 

Quinn wondered that, too. Was little Alice going to be next? Did she do something to anger Amaury? He had more than once promised to hurt Alan if she misbehaved. Quinn tried not to picture Alice being treated the way she had been. 

“Your daughter is gone and she’s not coming back,” Amaury told him. “It’s over for her, and for you.” That brought an unintelligible yowl from Alan.

A sudden splashing in the water caught the women’s attention. Their heads turned, but there was nothing to see but ripples. And that meant Alan’s hands were nowhere to be seen.

Amaury clapped his hands. “Girls! The lesson isn’t over yet. Stay with me,” he ordered.

Remy bent over and wrestled Alan to his feet as the wounded man started moaning his daughter’s name. He dragged Alan toward the wire fence as he continued to mumble, “Alice, Alice, Alice...” Blood continued to spurt in a slowing rhythm from the stumps of his arms.

Amaury helped Remy lift Alan, who was barely struggling anymore. His injured arms dangled limply as his life leaked away. The men hefted him over the wire fence and he flopped into the mud at the shore, his legs in the water. Half of Alan’s face was coated with mud. He didn’t even try to get up, he just kicked his legs weakly and looked the women. 

There was a pleading in his eyes that made Quinn uncomfortable. She felt like she should help him somehow, but... She did not want to lose any of her limbs, and what could she do for him now, really? He had already lost so much blood that there was no way he was going to survive, even if she leapt the fence and heroically carried him to the house.

Then the splashing in the water was heard again. Quinn looked in that direction and saw nothing – until she saw something. About 50 feet out, a barely moving pair of eyes in the water. An alligator. Then it dawned on Quinn where she’d seen a similar set-up to the wired-in pen: at the alligator-wrestling roadside attractions that dotted the highway.

Without even leaving a wake, the gator sailed silently toward the shoreline with incredible speed. All eyes were fixed on the approaching predator. Alan noticed this and turned his head to see what everyone else was looking at. It took him a second to notice the approaching eyes. “No,” he mumbled and tried to lift himself on the stumps of his arms, but knifing pain shot through his limbs and dropped him to the mud. Still, he moved his legs, and swiped his arms thought the thick mud to gradually turn his body toward the people coldly watching him. He dug his feet into the soft shore mud and crawled on his elbows to pull his body out of the water.

Quinn found herself clenching her fists and silently rooting for Alan as his feet cleared the water and he began wriggling on the drier dirt toward the wire fence. Amaury and Remy smiled as they watched him struggle. With his entire body on dry land now and just inches from the wire, Quinn thought Alan had a chance. But a chance for what? A chance to bleed out on solid ground?

Then the alligator was on him. Somehow, the huge body of the creature was out of the water and on the shore in a flash. It was easily 12 feet long, and Quinn couldn’t even see half the tail out of the water. It clamped its mouth on Alan’s right leg and he screamed in pain. Then the gator was pulling Alan back toward the water. He panicked and extended his bloody stumps for help.

“No! Not like this!” he screamed. “Please! Not like this! Not like this!” And then he was in the water flailing for only seconds before the alligator suddenly spun and pulled Alan under the water with him. The beast and the man then became a blur as the alligator rolled over and over and over, using its tail like a sort of propeller to drag Alan under the surface and then briefly out of the water. Quinn saw Alan’s mouth open and spitting water as he struggled for air on the first few spins.

“That’s called the ‘death roll,’” Amaury told his shocked audience. “That’s how alligators kill big prey they can’t eat in one gulp. They drown you.” 

Quinn was watching in shocked silence, eyes wide, while Fleur was on her knees and Claire hunkered down behind her, as if hiding from the spectacle.

After just a few moments the alligator stopped rolling. Satisfied its prey was drowned, the reptile withdrew, sinking beneath the waves, tugging its meal into the darkness below. 

Amaury turned to the women. “That’s what awaits you all if you misbehave,” he pronounced. “If you try to run away, you will not find help. You will get lost, you will be recaptured and you will be punished. Any questions?”

Quinn absent-mindedly shook her head, not really registering the warning. She heard one of the other girls vomiting, but refused to look because she knew she would just puke, too. She balled up her fists and stared daggers at Amaury.

“You heartless bastard!” Quinn snarled. “You didn’t have to kill a man just to threaten us. He didn’t deserve that.” Her voice changed from anger to sadness and she choked on her words. “No one deserves to die like that.” Again, she was crying.

“I had no more use for him now that his daughter is gone,” Amaury said. “He would have been much more trouble than he was worth to keep him alive.” 

Quinn flinched at the mention of Alice being gone. Her mind reeled at the thought of how cruelly Amaury could have killed a child.

“Why did you even kidnap them if you didn’t even want them?” Quinn demanded, as firmly as she could. “It doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes sense!”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, darlin’,” he replied. “I had visions of a father/daughter act, but then I ran across you, all alone in the woods, lookin’ so hot and sexy. Plans change.”

Quinn glared at him through tear-filled eyes, resenting his implication that this was all her fault. But inwardly, she wondered if she really was to blame for their deaths. She never even got their last name. 

And then Amaury was pulling Claire and Fleur to their feet and herding the three women toward the back of the newly discovered portion of the house. He had passed the rope to Remy, who now had it looped around his shoulder and was wiping the machete clean with a cloth.

“C’mon, we’re not gonna waste the whole mornin’ over that moron,” Amaury said, coldly. “You girls got lessons to do teach and learnin’ to do.”

Quinn nearly stumbled sideways in a muddy patch of ground. ‘Wait, don’t we get breakfast?” she asked.

“Oh, don’t mention food,” Claire moaned.

“You’ll get food after you fuck,” Amaury said.

“What?” Quinn said, shocked.

“Today’s the day you learn the proper technique for fucking dogs,” Amaury said. “The market for videos about scared first-timers is there, but you need to be able to move on to full-on fucking.”

Quinn knew all too well about full-on dog-fucking. Her heart started racing again and she stifled a small gasp.

“Fleur here is the best dog bitch in the South,” Amaury said, sounding like he was boasting. “She’s gonna show you the ropes.”

Quinn looked at Fleur, who shot her a quick, nervous smile and a shrug.

"Oh, God, this can’t really be happening," Quinn thought to herself, fighting more tears. "I’m gonna get fucked by a dog again. Really fucked."


	8. Bitch School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn gets schooled in the "proper" way to have sex with dogs.

Quinn almost welcomed the burlap sack that was thrown over her head once again; she wished it could blot out the whole world the same way it blocked her vision. Disoriented, her arms flailed and she felt her wrists grasped by firmed yet soft hands; Fleur and Claire were now guiding her over unfamiliar terrain. Quinn wasn’t sure in which direction she was headed, but guessed it was toward the house. The trio stopped and she heard bolts being unlocked. Quinn knew she was still outside, so the others must be taking her into the outbuilding.

When they started walking again, Quinn suddenly felt cooler air surround her. “Watch your step,” Claire said, and Quinn felt forward with a probing foot. “It’s a step down,” Claire added. “We’re heading down some stairs.” Quinn released one girl’s hand and took hold of a banister, which helped her make her way uncertainly down the stairs. At the bottom, she cursed herself for not counting the steps, but it felt like she was not more than a single storey below ground. It was much cooler and damper here, so Quinn surmised she was in an unfinished cellar of some type. Were they planning to lock her in a dungeon? 

Both Fleur and Claire had her hands again and guided her forward. Then she felt them spin her around, once, twice, three times. The hood was removed. But all Quinn could see was darkness. Then there was a click and lights came on. She was in a bare corridor made of concrete, with several doors on each wall. The hall continued off into darkness in both directions – thanks to being spun, Quinn had no idea which direction she had come from, and thus no way of knowing which way was out.

Fleur and Claire both smiled at her reassuringly and led Quinn toward one door. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Quinn stammered, her bare feet sliding on the floor as she tried to resist the pull of the two women. “I don’t need... I don’t want this!”

“You’ll be glad you picked up a few tips,” Fleur assured her. “After a while, once you’re really into it and want your movies to succeed.”

“I’ll never want my.... I’ll never want dog-fucking movies to succeed,” Quinn countered. “It’s cruel! It’s inhumane.”

“It’s only inhumane when a dog has to fuck an ugly chick,” Claire said. “What could ever be ‘cruel’ about getting it on with Fleur? She’s a total hottie. And you’re gonna be just as welcome.”

Quinn was pulling and trying to wriggle her arms loose, but the other girls were strong. “C’mon, a dog can’t give consent to sex – he’s just acting on instinct,” Quinn protested. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. And he certainly doesn’t understand human standards of beauty.”

“You’d be surprised,” Fleur said. “I’ve seen dogs refuse to mount ugly girls; it happens.”

The three red-clad women were right at the door now, and then it opened. Remy was standing in the doorway. It was brightly lit inside, and Quinn could hear a dog barking. Only one dog. “Please,” Quinn moaned to Remy with her eyes welling with tears. “Don’t do this to me. Help me.” She hoped to appeal to his protective instincts, but it didn’t appear to be working. What kind of uncaring monster was he?  
“I don’t know where Amaury’s coming from,” Remy said. “I love it when they’re terrified and beg. I don’t want to see no wore-out dog whore going through the motions, no matter how good she is at it.”

Claire slapped Remy on the shoulder. “Shut up, you dope!”

Remy looked confused why he was slapped for a second. Then understanding sparked in his eyes. “Oh, I wasn’t talkin’ about Fleur. No! She ain’t wore-out or used up! Fleur still has years in her!”

Fleur and Claire pushed past him with Quinn between them. They brought their charge to a metal chair with handcuffs dangling from it and roughly seated her in it. Claire snapped the cuff around Quinn’s left wrist. The chair was bolted to the floor.

Across the room, Quinn saw an Akita with patches of gray in his white fur stalking around inside a large wire cage. The dog had been barking when they entered the room, but a sharp command from Remy quieted him, and the dog devoted his energy to pacing in circles. Quinn noted that the dog was almost the same size as her, and it reminded her of the alpha dog in the alley.

“Please, please, Fleur, you can’t,” Quinn pleaded. “I can’t... I’ve been. I can’t let another dog... do that to me. Not again. Please.”

“Yeah, what about that?” Fleur asked. “When you were in the chair before, you said something about ‘not again,’ but Amaury said he didn’t put you with no dogs before, so how could that be ‘again’?” As she paused, she saw raw fear in Quinn’s eyes. “Oh, I get it, you tried it before on your own, and it didn’t go so well, right? When you were a skinny little teenager you heard about the peanut butter thing and tried it, and you ended up getting bit, right? That happens.”

“No!” Quinn shouted, cutting her off. “It wasn’t a teenage stunt. I was... I was raped by a pack of wild dogs. In an alley, just a few days ago. Or however long it’s been I was kidnapped. I was gang-raped all right? I was attacked by three dogs in an alley and they used me like a... like a female dog. Like I belonged to them. Like I was one of their fucking pack.”

“Were you teasin’ em?” Remy asked.

“No, I wasn’t ‘teasing them’!” Quinn spat. “They attacked me. They tore my bikini off and raped me. Raped me in my... vagina and my... ass.” She was sobbing now. “They filled me up with their... dirty dog sperm. Oh, god, it was in my vagina and in my ass. So much of it. It was pouring out of me. It was the most horrible thing ever.”

Claire leaned in close and wiped tears from Quinn’s cheek. “Aw, honey, I’m so sorry. Nobody’s first time should be like that. Nobody should be raped for a first time. And not gang-raped.”

“But on the bright side,” Remy chimed in, “You sorta have a sense of what they want, right? Like, they like it when you keep your ass up in the air.”

Both Claire and Fleur stared daggers at Remy, and he wisely shut up and pretended to putter around at one of the tables.

“Sweetie, we didn’t know you’d been traumatized like that,” Fleur cooed. “We would have tried not to sound so casual about it all. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to feel so helpless and overpowered. I’m so sorry.”

Quinn looked hopefully at Fleur and Claire. “So, you think maybe we can skip this whole thing?” she asked hopefully. “You can’t make me endure this again, right? You just can’t!”

Fleur wiped a hand across Quinn’s forehead, brushing hair out of her eyes. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, honey,” she said softly. “It’s not our call. It’s up to Amaury to decide what we do, and he told us to get you trained, or else.... Well, you saw he did to Alan. We may be new here, but we can see Amaury means business.”

“Yeah, why are you here, anyway?” Quinn asked. “How did you get here? What do you mean by calling yourselves new blood?” Quinn hoped to keep their minds busy with something, anything other than siccing that dog on her. And every minute she spent talking to them was a minute she wasn’t pinned underneath a horny dog.

“Amaury traded for us,” Claire said, matter-of-factly. “He traded that little blonde girl for the two of us and three trained dogs.”

“Amaury... traded for you? You and a bunch of dogs for... Alice?” Quinn asked. “That seems a bit... unbalanced. Aren’t you, like, offended or something? Five for one?”

“Well, she is a virgin,” Claire replied. “Was a virgin, I suppose... by now.”

“But, isn’t trading human beings, like, slavery?”

“It happens all the time,” Claire said, and then hung her head. “It is sort of like slavery.”

“But instead of manual labor we do... sex stuff,” Fleur explained. “As long as we... perform, we get treated well. We never get beaten or anything – because bruises.”

“But you have to fuck animals!” Quinn shouted in exasperation. “Isn’t that worse?”

“Not everyone has to,” Fleur countered. “Some girls do regular sex stuff, or other kinky things. And some work with different animals. I do dogs all the time, but some girls have to play with snakes!” A visible shiver went down Fleur’s spine.

“And there’s sometimes worse stuff,” Claire whispered. “I hear some girls get bled for people who think they’re vampires, and some girls have to fuck dead bodies!” Claire’s eyes were wide with terror. “And some girls we never see again. They say those ones got snuffed on video for real sickos to watch.”

Quinn closed her eyes in horror.

“So that’s why we’re not eager to test our new owner’s patience,” Fleur said. “There are worse fates than death. But Amaury’s already proved he’s not afraid to kill people, and he has the perfect way to make sure no bodies ever turn up.”

“So what’s it gonna be, Quinn?” Claire asked. “You want to practice being the best friend of man’s best friend, or do you want to become Gator-Chow?”

“I don’t like either choice,” Quinn said, sulking. “But I suppose there’s something to be said for living to fight another day.” She eyed the dog suspiciously, and then turned her head away. “God, I can’t believe I’m even giving this serious thought. How can I say yes? Just the thought is... disgusting; revolting. It’s dehumanizing.”

Claire stood up and walked out of Quinn’s sight in a huff, while Fleur stroked Quinn’s hair. “Trust me; it’s not the worst thing in the world – not by a long shot. If you can let go of what society tells you is wrong, you might actually allow yourself to like it. I mean, I cum like there’s no tomorrow when I really get into a scene. And you can, too.”

Quinn recalled how many times she had climaxed against her will under the lapping tongue of Midas. Or, rather, she recalled that she couldn’t remember how many times she had cum. And that was resisting with all her strength. What if she went with it? NO! That would be sick. What would her mother think? Not that her mother was here right now. And would her mother prefer that her little girl be fed to an alligator?

Quinn looked around the room. Besides her chair and the dog’s cage, there was an upholstered footstool, a bench, a few tables with various items on them, some boxes of dog food and treats, another table, this one with some lubricants and hygiene supplies, another with drinks and food, several leashes and collars and, finally, a strangely shaped wire contraption in the corner. There were several gymnasium-style padded mats on the floor as well as a few thinner yoga mats.

Claire returned and stood next to Quinn. She nervously ran a finger around the waistband of her panties before speaking. “How about this: You don’t have to say ‘yes’ to screwing the dog, okay? Just don’t say ‘no,’ as we go through it, okay? That way, you can tell yourself that you didn’t agree to it, okay? You can tell yourself that you’re doing it against your will; that we’re forcing you, okay?”

Quinn thought for a moment before nodding her head slowly. Then she stared at the floor. Claire pulled the key for the handcuffs from her bra and unlocked Quinn. “We’re sure we don’t have to even mention how running is not an option?” Claire asked. Quinn nodded again, rubbing her wrist.

“Here, these are for you,” Fleur said, handing the new girl two heavy, black foam objects. “They’re knee pads. They’ll make things infinitely more comfortable for you in the beginning. I know my knees were killing me early on. You’ll toughen up, but for now, use those.”

Quinn watched as Fleur put on her own pair of the foam pads, and followed suit. Then Quinn stood up and followed Fleur to one of the thick gym mats, where she got down on all fours. Quinn followed her example.

“First, you have to learn how to ‘present’ yourself,” Fleur said. “Which basically just means you’re signaling your partner that he can mount you –“

“‘Partner’?” Quinn asked. “It’s a dog; an animal.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s also your sex partner... what do you want me to call him, ‘your rapist’? Would that make you feel better, Quinn?” Fleur was getting a little angry now. “Would that make you feel more like you’re not complicit in this, Quinn? Like you’re not a dirty dog-fucker, like Claire and me? Would that help you feel superior?”

Quinn winced at the verbal assault. “I’m sorry,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t think.”

“No, you didn’t,” Fleur replied. “We’re not bad people, Quinn. I know you don’t want to be here, but you can treat me and Claire a little less like something you stepped in and can’t get off your shoe, okay? We’re people, too.” Fleur got up. “At least, we were,” she mumbled and stalked off, going to the table with the snacks on it and roughly twisted open a bottle of water.

Quinn dropped to her elbows, cursing to herself for alienating one of the few people who could help her. Claire abruptly appeared next to her, posed on her hands and knees. “Give her a chance to settle down,” she whispered, tipping her head in Fleur’s direction. “She can be a bit serious sometimes.”

Quinn smiled weakly at Claire.

“Now, obviously, you want to make yourself look like a dog,” Claire began. “So, obviously, that’s why we’re on all fours. Also, it puts us at the right height to be mounted. You want to keep your ass in the air as much as you can.” Claire looked at the dog in the cage. “We’re lucky in this case because these dogs are all trained girl-fuckers, so they know to come when we’re in this position and snap our fingers. But don’t do it now, because he’s penned up, and that would be cruel.”

Quinn nodded in silent agreement. She still wasn’t sure she would be able to go through with this, and started to wobble on her knees.

“Once the dog comes to you,” said Fleur, kneeling on the other side of Quinn, “you signal that you want him to mount you by slapping your ass, like giving yourself a little spanking.” She demonstrated with very quiet slaps on her own backside. “Now, the problem is like that old saying about horses: ‘You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.’ Well, you can lead a dog to your pussy, but you can’t make him fuck you. Dogs are very easily distracted, so he’ll likely spend a lot of time sniffing you, sniffing around you, pacing, doing anything in the world except fucking you.”

Quinn recalled the way Midas kept becoming distracted from the peanut butter.

“You might spend a whole lot of time trying to get him to mount you,” Fleur continued. “You’ll probably have to chase a dog on your knees, slapping your ass. You can whistle or snap your fingers, whatever. Also, he’ll probably spend time sniffing your snatch or licking it, even without peanut butter. Let him do whatever he wants, you can’t talk him out of it. Hell, he might spend 10 minutes humping your thigh, thinking he’s having sex with you. A lot of them need help finding the target. They’re like teenage boys that way: plenty eager, but not skilled.”

Quinn nodded and smiled weakly.

“Let’s try a little... just for practice,” Fleur suggested.

Quinn’s eyes bugged out with instant fear.

“Don’t worry,” Fleur said. “You can keep your panties on of you want. I just want you to get a feel for it; a feel for having the dog on top of you.”

“I fucking know what that feels like,” Quinn snapped. “I can’t forget what it feels like.”

“Well, then,” Remy suddenly chimed in. “Let’s stop all the grade-school screwing around and have a real rehearsal. Panties off, ladies!” 

Claire and Fleur immediately stood, and then pulled down their panties. Claire also took off her bra. Quinn was surprised at how the ladies responded to Remy – as if Amaury himself had given the order. Clearly, Remy was acting in Amaury’s place and with his authority. Quinn slowly stood and shyly pulled down her panties. They snagged on her kneepads, but she got the underwear off without totally losing her balance, and opted to keep her bra in an act of minimum modesty.

Quinn noticed that the other girls were clean-shaven, and looked at her own pubic bush. 

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Claire said. “You really should shave that off; it’ll make things less messy with the peanut butter and whatever else. I was going to shave it for you in the shower, but you were so twitchy that I didn’t want to risk it.”

Quinn also noticed something else about Claire and Fleur: each of them had a small tattoo on their left hip in the shape of a dog’s paw. Fleur noticed Quinn staring at it and popped her hip. “It’s like a badge – a signal to those in the know that we fuck dogs. You can get one, too, if you want it.”

Quinn smiled and made a non-committal sound.

“Look alive, Quinn, let’s do this!” Remy called out. “Here comes Akira!” He unlatched the cage and slid open the door. Akira bolted through the opening, then stopped short, as if confused what to do next.

Fleur nodded to Quinn, who, without a word, dropped to her knees and snapped her fingers. Akira responded by rushing over to her and sniffing her face, and then circled around her. She slapped her ass, calling, “Here, boy! C’mon, Akira! Who’s a good boy? Who wants to f-f-fuck?” Quinn stumbled slightly over the last word, but she remained resolved.

Akira moved behind her and sniffed at her pussy and ass before he started to lick her. Quinn spanked her butt cheeks. “C’mon, Akira! Up!”

The dog climbed with his forelimbs and mounted Quinn, his front legs on her back at first, but then they slid to either side. His penis emerged from its sheath and Akira started stabbing it against the back of Quinn’s right thigh. Quinn reached back and tapped on her pussy, trying to guide Akira, but he wasn’t getting it. Fleur knelt beside the pair, took Akira’s penis in her hand and guided it into Quinn’s waiting vagina. Akira must have recognized that he was where he wanted to be, because he instantly started to push into Quinn with great excitement.

“Oh, god!” Quinn gasped. “Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!” she grunted with each thrust – and Akira was eagerly thrusting. “Fleur! Fuck! Guhguh!” Quinn’s left elbow collapsed and she almost lost her balance. 

Then Akira pulled his penis out and gave Quinn’s sex a couple of licks before he backed off and circled the girl. He sniffed her raven-black hair and licked her face once before returning to her hindquarters. He sniffed and licked up and down her leg.

“Here, boy!” Quinn called, slapping her butt. Akira responded by licking her ass and then mounting her again, thrusting wildly. Again, Fleur helped guide the dog dick to its intended destination. Akira was good at taking direction and rammed it home.

Quinn squealed and bit her bottom lip as Akira started jack-hammering her. “Ooh... Oh! Oh! God, Fleur! Oh, god, ogodogodogodogod!” Akira stayed on top of Quinn for a good minute this time before dismounting and licking her snatch. He seemed really intent on his work.

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and grunted between her clenched teeth as Akira worked on her. She started gasping to catch her breath. Then Claire was suddenly in front of her. Quinn was surprised to see her – and doubly surprised when Claire kissed her. Quinn was now so aroused that she didn’t resist the buss, and in fact kissed her back. As they played with each other’s tongues, Akira’s tongue did its work on Quinn’s sex. She knew the feeling that was coming over her – and to her own shock, Quinn welcomed it this time. She did not resist the orgasm as it overtook her, and she actually screamed into Claire’s mouth.

Claire chuckled as Akira came round and started licking the two girls’ mouths, as if joining in the kiss. She pushed at Akira. “Go away, doggie! Go service her from the other end!”

As the dog returned to his work, licking Quinn’s pussy furiously, Quinn thought about what Claire had said, about the dog “servicing” her, and was struck with a pang of guilt about the wrongness of what she was doing. It wasn’t natural to have sex with animals – and it was even less natural to enjoy it! 

And that’s when an enormous orgasm overtook her, and Quinn’s elbows gave way. With her ass high in the air, Akira mounted her again, and started to piston his cock into her with renewed vigor.

“Oh! Claire! Fuck! Fuck!” Quinn gasped as Akira fucked her. “Uht! Uht! Uht! Uht! Guuuuhh! OOohhhh, fuck!” 

Claire took hold of Quinn’s hand as the girl under the dog shook with wave after wave of orgasms overtaking her. Quinn felt her pussy being pumped full of the animal’s cum – and that started to bring back memories of her gang-rape. Quinn’s mind started to reel, and panic instantly filled her eyes. 

“Claire – they’re raping me,” Quinn whispered. “They’re back! They’ve come back for me!”

Claire squeezed Quinn’s hand harder. “No, honey, it’s not... It’s the pack. It’s just one dog, it’s just Akira, and he’s your friend,” she cooed to Quinn. But the new girl could not be soothed.

Sensing that Quinn was freaking out, Claire turned to Fleur, who took action. She took Akira by the collar and pulled him away from Quinn.

“Good doggie, Akira, good doggie,” Fleur told him as she assumed the position and let him mount her. As he slid his cock home she moaned, “Ooohh, yessss, such a good doggie!”

Claire pulled Quinn to her feet and steadied the uneasy girl. “I think that’s enough for now, Remy,” she said. “Quinn did an outstanding job, but let’s not overwhelm her, okay?”

Remy screwed up his face in annoyance, then turned away. He walked back to the cage and whistled for Akira. The dog climbed off Fleur and returned to his cage, where Remy gave him pats on the head and a couple of Milkbones.

Fleur joined Claire in supporting the rubber-kneed Quinn, whose arms were slick with sweat. “Let’s get you cleaned up, honey,” Fleur said in a reassuring voice. “You did such a great job! I’m so proud of you! You really, really tried hard, and that’s what matters. The next session will go much smoother.”

Quinn rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t laugh, even out of gallows humor, at the thought of another session.


	9. A Date With Density

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn has a disturbing encounter with a huge dog.

Quinn awoke suddenly, bathed in sweat and not sure where she was. Gradually, she became aware that she was lying on her back in bed. It was her bed; she felt the familiar posh, high thread-count sheets against her naked back. The room, with its pleasantly pale yellow walls, was splashed with bright sunlight from the large bay windows that looked out on a white-sand beach beneath a deep-blue sky. Turning to her left, she stared at the “Cats Wearing Hats” calendar on the wall. Yeah, it’s Tuesday morning, which seems correct. Lolling her head lazily to the right, she saw a familiar naked female form lying on her side, facing away from her, displaying an expanse of smooth, pale skin as she slept quietly, her long, gold hair spread on the pillow. Yes, that was her wife, Fleur Kane.

Quinn reached out with her right hand and gently traced the outlines of several of the beautiful tattoos that decorated Fleur’s back: a dog; an eel curling around itself; an octopus perched on a treasure chest; a swimming dolphin; a grinning chimpanzee. Each elaborately inked image represented a creature she had become expert at fucking on video over the past three years. Quinn withdrew her hand when she heard Fleur suddenly suck in a huge breath of air, signaling she was waking up. Quinn then ran her hand over her own left shoulder. She couldn’t feel the tattoo, but she knew it was there: a silver ankh. The ancient symbol of Life represented the one achievement she had mastered that her wife never had fucking the dead. So, naturally, Quinn loved to tease her about it.

Finally, Quinn ran both of her hands over the ultimate symbol that all was right in her world: her own pregnant belly. She rubbed the warm skin stretched over her swollen belly. She felt a tap of movement deep within. It wouldn’t be long now, the reminded herself.

Fleur rolled over onto her back and smiled at her wife with bleary eyes. “Mornin’ sunshine,” she croaked in a scratchy voice. Fleur leaned in and kissed her gingerly, her hand sliding to Quinn’s swollen breasts, then down over her giant belly, and then lower, and lower...

“Shit!” Fleur shouted, quickly withdrawing her hand. It was wet. “What the fuck?”

“What’s wrong?” Quinn cried.

“Oh, shit, baby, your water broke!”

So that’s what woke up me up, Quinn thought to herself.

“Quinn, you’re having your baby!” Fleur said, leaping out of bed and reaching for her robe.

“I’m having our baby,” Quinn reminded her and tried to sit up – but she was overcome by a sudden pain in her gut. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh, fuck, that hurts! That really hurts!”

Fleur ran over to Quinn and cupped her face in her hands. “It’s supposed to hurt, sweetie,” she said. “At least, that’s what I always heard and read.”

“No,” Quinn responded, grabbing Fleur’s wrist. “This... this isn’t that. This isn’t right. This isn’t contractions.” She then almost doubled over in pain.

“What?” Fleur replied, panic washing over her face. “What do you mean, ‘not contractions’? The... the baby?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn squeaked, her eyes shut and teeth clenched with pain. “Owww!” She grabbed her belly. “I feel it! Moving! Ohh, noooooooo!” Quinn suddenly lay flat on her back, arms thrown out at her sides, screaming as if she were being torn open.

Panicking, Fleur looked at Quinn’s belly and saw it shake. In her peripheral vision she caught movement at Quinn’s vagina. There was... something there. Something dark. Something black. It started moving and squirming, and then sliding out of Quinn. It was dark and streaked with blood and it was long and getting longer. Blood poured from Quinn’s vagina as the... something twisted and squirmed. And suddenly there was something else, smaller and oblong, emerging from the birth canal. It kept getting longer and squirming, even as Quinn howled in pain.

“Fuck! No! Get it out! Get it out of me! Fleur! Help me!” Quinn screamed. “Get it out of me! Please!”

Fleur swallowed her revulsion and grabbed the black squirming thing. It felt bristly... like it was covered in stiff hair. She ignored it and pulled as Quinn’s screams grew ever more intense. Fleur closed her eyes and pulled and pulled – and suddenly the thing came free. Fleur opened her eyes and saw what she was holding: a puppy.

“Quinn?” Fleur said, confused. “Quinn...” And then Quinn screamed again, and Fleur looked down to see another black snout protruding from her wife’s vagina. 

“Oh, shit, Quinn,” Fleur said, her heart pounding and chest heaving. She looked at Quinn and they locked eyes as she showed Quinn what she had given birth to. “It’s a boy,” she said, weakly.

“A puppy?” Quinn gasped as the second little dog emerged from her. “I’m having puppies?”

Fleur nodded silently and held up the second pup.

“Wait, puppies come in litters,” Quinn said. “How many puppies are in a ‘litter’?”

Fleur shrugged.

Quinn’s eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth dropped open as she passed out.

And then woke up screaming.

Quinn bolted upright in bed, wrapped in sheets, hugging her torso and screaming. And she didn’t stop screaming until Claire and Fleur appeared and grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her.

“Quinn! Quinn, baby, what’s wrong?” Claire demanded.

“The babies, my puppies,” Quinn babbled. “They keep coming out of me! Make them stop!”

“Make them stop what?” Fleur asked. “Quinn, what are you talking about?”

“The fucking puppies!” Quinn shouted. “The ones you’re holding.” Fleur held up her empty hands. “Wait, what?” Quinn asked, shaking her head. “Where are my puppies?”

Claire and Fleur looked at each other, confused. “What puppies?”

“These puppies,” Quinn said, throwing back the sheets.

Fleur and Claire stared, seeing only Quinn’s svelte naked body. Quinn noticed their blank gaze and looked down. She saw nothing at all unusual. No pregnant belly, no puppies, no blood. She also didn’t feel any pain.

Quinn looked up at the women, puzzled. Then she blushed and quickly wrapped the sheet around her nakedness again.

“Honey, you must have been dreaming,” Fleur said. “It was just a dream. There aren’t any puppies here at all, just adult dogs.”

“Dreaming?” Quinn asked, stupefied. “Dreaming. Yes, of course,” she said, nodding her head and looking around. She still did not recognize the room she was in. She barely remembered being taken somewhere after showering and eating dinner after her afternoon session with Akira the Akita. “That makes sense. We’re not married.”

“Excuse me?” Fleur asked.

“Never mind; it’s nothing,” Quinn said, waving her hand. “Just... dream stuff. Or nightmares. Whatever.” 

“Well, okay, whatever,” Claire said. “So, ready to get back at it?” Quinn now finally noticed that the other girls were dressed in their red underwear. As Quinn climbed out of bed, Fleur handed her a fresh set of red-lace lingerie of her own.

“What do you think: Ready to try two dogs today?” Claire asked.

“No! Only one! I can’t take two again!” Quinn cried.

Claire and Fleur laughed. “Not at the same time, silly,” Fleur said. “One at a time. You only did Akira yesterday. We should bring in another. Although, if you liked Akira, we can use him again.”

Quinn gave it a couple of seconds of thought. “I guess he was okay. And might as well have a familiar face, I guess,” she shrugged, reminding herself that Akira had made her cum several times yesterday. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“That’s my girl,” Fleur said with a wink as Quinn finished dressing. 

“Don’t get too attached,” Claire said, exaggerating a pout and slapping Fleur on the butt. “Let’s get mounted, ladies!”  
Quinn followed the other two out the door and into the familiar concrete-floored corridor, meaning she was probably in the basement of the outbuilding behind Amaury’s house.

The trio walked down the corridor, passing several doors on each side and pausing only a second at one in particular before Claire opened it. Quinn heard the familiar sound of barking and the pungent smell of dogs. It was the same room – the one with the floor mats – in which they had “rehearsed” yesterday. Quinn looked to the source of the barking and once again saw Akira, but also a new dog: an American bulldog. Remy was standing behind the cages, dressed in jeans and a tight black T-shirt.

“That’s Toro,” Fleur told Quinn, nodding in the direction of the bulldog. “He’s quite talented, if you know what I mean. And by ‘talented’ I mean he really knows how to fuck.” She elbowed Quinn in the ribs.

Quinn swallowed hard and kept her eyes on Toro as she strolled over to the equipment table and picked up some knee pads. Toro was easily as big as she. Quinn took a deep breath and pulled off her boy shorts before sliding on the pads. She noticed that neither Fleur nor Claire was prepping herself. Quinn cocked her head inquisitively at Fleur, who replied: “Claire and I are shooting a video together with some of the ‘boys’ later, so we’re taking the morning off. It’s all you now, bae.” She gave Quinn a peck on the cheek. “For luck,” she said, blushing.

Quinn stepped onto one of the thicker mats, took another deep breath and squatted on her haunches. She looked Remy in the eyes. “May as well try the new big guy while I have all my strength,” she said to him. Remy smiled in response and opened Toro’s cage.

The dog casually walked toward Quinn as if he had something better he could be doing, but didn’t really mind stopping by for a booty call. “Toro” means “bull” in Spanish, Quinn reminded herself, noting that while he was big, at least he wasn’t the size of an actual bull.

Quinn rolled forward onto her knees and reached back to pat her butt. She whistled. “Toro! Here, boy! Come and... get some!” She kept patting her ass and whistling to him. The American bulldog walked to her and gingerly sniffed at her hindquarters before giving her a lick. “OH!” Quinn squeaked, not expecting to be lapped down there. She had assumed Toro would just mount her and start pumping away.

Quinn raised her right leg and flipped it over herself, repositioning so that she was suspending herself on her hands and feet, back toward the floor, in a crab position. Toro continued licking her snatch. “Uuuhh,” Quinn groaned as she lifted her hips and pushed her pussy closer to the dog’s mouth. He licked her eagerly, drooling rivers on her pubic mound. Then he stopped and started to lick her left leg and foot.

Slightly frustrated, Quinn swung her legs around again, and was back on her knees, rubbing her butt cheeks with her had. “Toro! C’mon! Give it to me!” she cooed to him. Perhaps now that he had a taste, Toro was more interested in her. He sniffed her butt just once and climbed atop her. His forelimbs slid down over each of her sides.

“Ugh! Shit, he’s heavy,” Quinn grunted.

“Damn right he is,” Remy replied, watching with relish – and a growing bulge in his jeans. “He weighs about the same as you.”  
“Then I’m going on a diet,” Quinn chuckled.

Then Toro found the sweet spot and rammed his cock home.

“Aieee!” Quinn screamed. “He’s big! Ooooh, fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s big! He’s big, Fleur!”

“Damn sure is,” Fleur said, smiling. “Be glad I’m letting you have him all to yourself.”

“You... gaahhh.. you shouldn’t... have,” Quinn grunted. She struggled to maintain her stability on hands and knees. “He’s so heavy. And, and... the pounding. I can’t. I can’t.” Quinn’s elbows collapsed and she was forced down, those same elbows hitting the mat and now supporting the full weight of herself and the bulldog. “Fffffuck, no... I can’t take it. He’s too heavy. I can’t.”

Claire knelt down beside Quinn. “Yes, you can. You can take him,” she said in a bright, encouraging voice. “You can do it. You’re strong enough.”

Quinn shook her head frantically. “No! No, I can’t! I can’t take it!” she shouted. Her face was red and sweat was pouring off her. “He’s too heavy, and his... his... ogod, his cock is so big inside me! Too big! It’s too big!”

Fleur knelt on the other side of Quinn. “He’s big, yes, but not too big,” she offered. “He’s not too big for you. You can do it! You can take that cock, baby!”

Toro happily rammed Quinn’s pussy at a steady rate while looking around the room, seemingly bored. Then the girl felt him begin to spray inside her. “He’s c-c-c-cumming... in me,” she gasped between gritted teeth.

“Not yet, hun,” Fleur said. “That’s just the precum. Give him another minute or two to get to the good stuff.”

Quinn shook her head as drool dripped from her lips. “No! Haven’t gottttt... got a few minutes. Too much!” Quinn could not vocalize it, but being overwhelmed by Toro’s size and strength and girth was triggering flashbacks to the canine gang-rape she had endured. “Get them off!” she cried. “Get them off meeeeeee!”

Claire and Fleur looked at each other for a second before the penny dropped. “We better not let him knot her,” Claire said, noting the tears pouring from the traumatized girl’s eyes. “I don’t think she can take the knot.”

Quinn managed to lift her head and look in Claire’s direction. “What’s a ‘knot’?” she asked. “What’s he going to do to me? He... he’s... already practically killing mmmmmeeeeeee.”

Fleur reached out to stroke Quinn’s sweat-soaked black hair. “The ‘knot’ is when the base of the dog’s cock swells to giant size inside your pussy and gets so big that it can’t be pulled out,” she explained. “It locks him inside you. It keeps his sperm bottled up inside you so that it doesn’t flow out.”

“And also keeps another dog from coming along and filling you up with his own baby batter,” Claire chimed in. “It’s a way of keeping one pack leader’s genetic line going. When he’s knotted inside you and you can’t be separated, you’re said to be ‘tied’ to him.”

“Thing is,” Fleur added, “once you’re tied, you really are ‘as one.’ You can’t be separated; not without great pain. Not until his blood flow goes down and the swelling shrinks. If you tried to pull the knot out, it would cause you excruciating, agonizing pain like you’ve never experienced.”

Quinn’s eyes bulged. “Get him off me! Get him off!” she screamed. “Don’t let him knot in me! Stop him!”

Both Fleur and Claire turned their attention to Toro. Fleur stood and started talking to Toro, urging him to get off Quinn, while Claire grabbed him by the haunches and tried to physically pull him backward, out of Quinn.

“I can see him starting to swell,” Claire called to Fleur. “He’s getting big fast!”

“Fuck! Get him off! Please!” Quinn sobbed. She was on the edge of panicking and started wriggling her hips, trying to shake him off. She felt like that alley victim again, and it made her crazy to feel so helpless again. She had vowed never to let herself be victimized again, yet here she was, having something done to her again, rather than taking control herself.

Fleur stroked the soft fur under Toro’s throat. “You’re such a good boy, Toro,” she whispered to him. “You are so good at your job! But why do you have to be this good right now?” 

Fleur’s eyes appealed to Remy for help. He had been leaning against the wall, watching the action with relish. With a frown, he stood upright and approached the girls and the dog. He whistled sharply. “Toro! Down, boy! Sit!” he shouted in a deep, commanding voice that startled the girls.

Toro’s head popped up, and he meekly started to withdraw. Claire had been pulling on the dog’s hips with all her weight, and suddenly the animal’s cock came out of Quinn’s pussy with an audible pop. It was followed by a river of canine semen. Quinn collapsed straight down onto her stomach and lay there, unmoving except for heaving breaths.

Toro was staggering backward, his cock still spraying randomly, and he assumed a sitting position. Claire found herself deposited on her butt, sighing in relief.

“Good boy, Toro,” Remy told him before producing a handful of treats and feeding them to the dog. “Good boy!” Fleur kneeled next to the dog and petted him, cooing soothingly into his ear.

Quinn managed to roll over onto her side. “I can’t do this,” she said quietly. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Claire got up, walked over and then knelt beside Quinn. “Yes, you can, honey. You just need practice.”

“No,” Quinn gasped. “No, I can’t. And, more importantly, I don’t want to. I almost went crazy when he was on me, pressing me down. It was like being raped all over again. I can’t ever do that again.”

“Hush, don’t make any rash decisions,” Claire urged, her eyes nervously flicking toward Remy. “You’re upset. This was a trauma; you have to relax and get past it.”

“Papa ain’t gonna be happy to hear you talk like that, girl,” Remy offered, unhelpfully. “He brought you here to work, not sit around mewling.”

“Well, maybe your father should just let me go then,” Quinn shot back. “I can’t do what he wants.”

“Ha!” Remy shouted. “That’s a good one.” He looked over at Toro, and saw Fleur was now sucking his dick. “Hey, girl, that ain’t gonna help him.”

Fleur raised her head and swallowed what was in her mouth. “He’s frustrated. We pulled him off her before he was done.”

“That ain’t gonna make his boner go down,” Remy replied. “He’s just gonna keep cummin’ and cummin’. You know that, girl.”

Fleur frowned. She didn’t want to make things worse for the poor dog. Still, she knew it was best to just let the humping urge pass. She wiped at the corner of her mouth with a pinkie finger and walked over to the table to grab some towels. Then she handed a couple to Quinn.

Quinn didn’t react, so Claire picked one up and gently wiped the new girl’s face.

“Is that true what you said about ‘knotting’?” Quinn asked.

Claire nodded. “If he tied to you, he’s big enough to have dragged you around the room with him if he wanted,” she said. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen girls dragged like little rag dolls impaled on big dog cocks.” Claire was quiet for a moment. “One of those videos was one of Papa Jean-Claude’s biggest sellers ever.”

Quinn shuddered. “That can’t happen. Not to me. I’d die,” she insisted.

Claire finished wiping Quinn’s face. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d get through it, just like you’ve gotten through everything else so far.”

Quinn sat up. “If that happened to me,” she said, waving her arm, palm outstretched. “If I got dragged around by my vagina, whether or not it was on tape, I’d die. I’d kill myself when it was over if I had to.”

Fleur sat next to Quinn and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “No, you wouldn’t,” Fleur declared. “I wouldn’t let you. Me and Claire, we’d look out for you. We wouldn’t let you hurt yourself.”

Quinn stared daggers at Fleur before saying: “You wouldn’t let me kill myself, but you’d make me fuck dogs for the rest of my life? You’d make me an animal whore. You’d rather I become something less than human?”

Fleur frowned, stood up and wordlessly stormed out of the room.

“Don’t mind her,” Claire said, bottling up her own anger at Quinn for being so stupid and unfeeling toward them. “You know how emotional she gets.”

“ ‘Don’t mind her’?” Quinn echoed. “Fuck her! I don’t want to get fucked to death by animals! If she can’t care about me, then I don’t care about her. And if you’re with her, then fuck you, too, Claire. I’m done with this. It ends here. I’m not messing around with any more damn dogs. I’m out!” 

Claire’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t say that,” she pleaded. She tried to put a finger to Quinn’s lips to quiet her, but Quinn slapped the hand away.

“No, fuck that!” Quinn shouted. “I’m done. Done!”

And then the burlap sack was thrown over Quinn’s head. “There is no out, ma cher,” Remy said.

Quinn tried to claw at the cinch around her neck, but then she felt something new: a needle go into her arm. And then blackness swallowed her.


End file.
